


His Home and His Heart

by taetaetiger (sexyvanillatiger)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Gentle Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Master/Slave, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 01:56:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 30,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5564533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexyvanillatiger/pseuds/taetaetiger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fucktoy!AU. Sweet Yixing, prized above all other toys; the middle of three brothers with fair faces, dark gazes, and quick tongues; who knows better than to fall in love with his first master.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. His Home and His Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings in the tags.

It causes a stir in the grapevine, though the gossip never makes it into print. It's a subtler outcry, hidden behind palms cupped around mouths as they come together, spreading falsehoods in whispers and titters. It doesn't help that Yixing is presumed to be slower than he actually is, his far off gaze wrongly suggesting an absent attention. On the contrary, he hears everything. In the servant's hallways, in the bedrooms of other toys, in the bathhouse, even straight from a drunken customer's mouth once.

Wasteful, is what he hears the most. How wasteful. Even for something as precious as Yixing, such an amount—the _Zhangzi_ must be moonstruck. There are far simpler toys, just as pretty, just as eager to please, and at a much more reasonable cost. There are also rumors about how Yixing's price rose so high. None of them are true; Yixing's handler is not a dishonest man. Still, the more he hears them, the less amusing they become. Yixing finds the whole ordeal progressively disconcerting as he realizes that people might actually believe the slander they are selling.

The only thing that Yixing wonders is _why_ —why a man, even a rich man, would pay such an amount for something that he will no doubt tire of in a short number of years, as most young masters do. Yixing himself has never handled money—his house has met all of his needs since the day he came to it—but even for someone of his naiveté, his final price seems exorbitant. His handler tells him not to challenge good fortune, and that he should be thanking his mother at her altar for birthing him under the kind watch of the rabbit deity.

Having been the last to sell out of his brothers, Yixing thanks heaven that he even met asking price. He never expected to compare to Zitao's lofty rate, bought by an ambassador from a wealthy branch of the Kim family. Even Lu Han's profit had been staggering, coming from a much more distant line of the imperial family. The two boys on their own brought their pleasure house profit and fame. Yixing could well have been sold to a county judge and still the house would not have suffered loss or humiliation.

But an offer from Zhangzi, son of the second prince, holds laurels on its own. The outrageous sum of the offer had been unnecessary at that point, and only served to disturb the quiet around Yixing's good name. Yixing had been worried that the excitement would upset Zitao, whose settlement had previously been unparalleled in the last decade. Instead, Yixing received a letter only a day or so after Zhangzi's offer was accepted, Zitao's scrawl sloppy with excitement. Belonging to Zhangzi meant that Yixing would still exist within his brothers' circle, the toys of noble men often coming together for leisure. Having been separated from them both for long enough, Yixing shares Zitao's sentiment.

He is collected on the seventh day by a stiff, strict-looking woman, arriving in an imported black car. Yixing, who has never seen a car before, reaches out to touch it, but the escort slaps his hand away. She tells him that it is a hot day and he will burn himself on the metal if he is not careful. He glances back at his handler, who nods slowly, as though willing him to behave.

He does. He's been trained in decorum since before he'd reached puberty. Though he may not have been the most apt student, Yixing remembers his lessons well. He climbs into the back of the car when the woman opens the door for him; inside, the leather of the seat burns him through his clothes. He pulls at the red silk of his robes just a bit to let out some of the heat. The car is stifling, sweltering in ways he's never felt before. A man with a cap on his head sits in the driver's seat, his hands on the wheel, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. The woman climbs into the seat beside him. Yixing turns his gaze to look out the side window, preferring the countryside sliding away from him to the view of the backs of their heads.

"You're a pretty one," the woman says when the drive starts to feel endless. Yixing straightens and smiles politely.

"Thank you," he says, bowing his head.

"Yes, I can see why Yifan would spend so much on something as sweet…"

"Yifan?"

"He'll be _duizhang_ to you, pet."

Yixing frowns contemplatively. "Yifan is…Zhangzi?"

The woman looks up into the small mirror above the windshield and smiles at Yixing. "Well, we can thank heaven that he didn't buy you for your wits."

Yixing smiles the way he was taught to when someone offended him. Complacent, submissive. "Duizhang is a kind man?" he asks to keep from falling back into a silence. The escort averts her eyes from the mirror and shrugs.

"What does kindness mean to a plaything like you?"

Bowing, Yixing says, "Nothing," and returns to looking out the window.

Another woman greets them when they arrive at the _junwang_ 's estate. "Wonderful," she says. She brushes her fingers through his hair, gently, so as not to disturb the gems and pearls that were woven in earlier this morning. She pulls at his robe until it almost hangs off of one shoulder, and whenever Yixing reaches up to fix it, she pushes his hand away. She continues her inspection of him, smiling kindly and nodding with approval in her eyes. "Wonderful. Take him to Yifan's suite," she says to his escort. To him, she says, "Do duizhang a kindness and prepare yourself for him. He will not have very much time to meet you before he must make an appearance at the palace."

Yixing bows obediently, letting himself be led through the tall, wide halls in such a way that he thinks he would never be able to replicate this path if he needed to. It's almost a surprise when his escort leads him through a door into a bedroom, for Yixing felt as though he could continue to walk on forever and never find Zhangzi's chambers. Whereas the pleasure house had been elegant in its simplicity, easy to navigate for customers and attendants alike, the junwang's estate is a home. Ornate and labyrinthine, it sprawls lazily. Like a dragon, Yixing is awed and terrified by its size and splendor.

His escort assists him in unfastening his robe and the thin tunic underneath, draping them over a sofa. She exits to an adjoining room—a washroom, Yixing sees when he cranes his neck to peer after her—and returns with a glass decanter half-filled with oil. Yixing bows silently in thanks, choosing to hold his tongue with this woman lest he let his wit be known, and she assists him onto the bed before leaving.

Yixing spreads the throw pillows around him comfortably, messily, in the way that men find enticing. Centering himself amongst them, he reaches up for the decanter. He starts with a small amount of oil, not wanting to spill any onto the bedding, and he pushes one finger into himself without preamble. It's only an art when there's an audience, so he works quickly and silently, pressing in four of his slim fingers before he is able to reach no further. He rises from the bed and moves into the washroom to find a towel to clean his hands with.

His breath catches when he pushes the door open. It's the largest private washroom he's ever seen, even compared to the one he shared with his brothers in the house where he was raised. For all of this to belong to one man—Yixing's heart flutters, and he thinks that he could be well taken care of for the next few years. The towels, when he finds them, are almost too nice to ruin, but he wants to meet his master with clean hands, so he dries them anyways while assuring himself that nobody, not even a rich man, would keep towels not fit to see a mess.

Yixing reenters the main chamber not knowing how long he will be waiting until Zhangzi comes to meet him. He considers the bed longingly, remembering how nice it had felt beneath him while he prepared himself, but an important lesson from his training turns round in his head. He does not know what sort of man Zhangzi will be. Zhangzi might prefer a disciplined toy, one who shows the highest reverence toward his master. Until he knows his master better, Yixing is safest erring on the side of caution.

He kneels at the side of the bed, his posture tall and straight, head bowed, hands placed delicately in his lap. One day soon, he will have a collar, and when he takes this position, he will resemble the subjects of historic, beautiful portraits commissioned by men who took great pride in their toys. Yixing was bred to be every bit as fruitful as the toys in those paintings, bred to one day be one of them, his gainful youth eternalized long after he is old and retired.

Right in this moment, though, the bare floor beneath his knees is hard and his back is beginning to ache faintly. He's having difficulty keeping his head bowed, the desire to study the lavish minutiae of a rich man's bedroom overwhelming; there are dragons painted along the baseboards, scrolls of calligraphy hanging along the walls, vast embroideries across the bedclothes, and yet Yixing is bound to staring at the hardwood. He's so close to rising, draping himself over the mattress, his master's opinion be damned, when resounding footfalls echo from a distant part of the hallway outside. Yixing readjusts his posture, bleeding out the errors, and he waits nervously with his heart bunched up somewhere in his throat.

The door opens loudly. Zhangzi must have charged in, but all Yixing can see are his shoes. He stands frozen before Yixing, who waits for a command, but nothing comes. Hesitantly, he lifts his head, looking up at Zhangzi from beneath his lashes. His master stands before him, looking stern and slightly out of breath. His grim expression is somehow embellished by his Western style suit, which elongates him in a very exciting way. Yixing never imagined that his master would be so…handsome.

Zhangzi clears his throat and closes the door behind him, and Yixing continues to watch him from where he is kneeling. He wishes to move to the bed, but Zhangzi still has not said a word to him. It is only when Zhangzi begins to loosen his tie that Yixing raises slowly and stiffly from his aching knees. Zhangzi watches him intently, looking surprised but not upset, though Yixing is still careful to not once fully turn his back on his master as he climbs onto the bed and spreads himself delicately amongst the throw pillows.

Zhangzi's face flares then, fire rising in his cheeks, and he pulls the rest of his suit off much less carefully. Yixing does not have a long wait before his master is sliding up against him, one large hand tentatively raising to stroke his chest, down his abdomen, smoothing down the insides of his thighs. Yixing lifts himself up and spreads himself out to accommodate Zhangzi's inspection, his exploration of Yixing's body. Zhangzi reaches for the oil after a long, quiet perusal, but Yixing grabs his wrist before he can. He guides his master's hand down between his legs, pushing his fingers towards his wet entrance, and Zhangzi's eyes widen.

"Oh," he says, his voice deep and rich, every bit as beautiful as his face. "You're already—" but he doesn't finish his sentence. He dips one finger inside Yixing, just enough to feel that Yixing's preparations were thorough. He presses his lips together and nods, leaning forward instead to line himself up and sink in.

Yixing's lips part when he does, a small breath pushed out of him at the fullness of it. It's a pleasant feeling, warm like a homecoming rather than the first welcome. His master is gentle with his possession, massaging Yixing's stretched rim with his thumb until he is ready. Yixing is thankful, for Zhangzi is one of the largest men he has serviced. His own hands are small and his fingers are slim, so he can still feel the sting of the stretch, despite his diligence. But Zhangzi moves slowly and resolutely in the way only experienced men do, and it stirs a greater want in him.

Yixing opens his legs wider so that Zhangzi can thrust deeper into him, and when he doesn't, he wraps his legs around his master's hips and pulls him in. Yixing's shame is that he has never been prized for his absolute submission, too brash for love of his trade, but Zhangzi doesn't chasten him. He moans, dropping his head down against the pillow just above Yixing. Yixing takes the opportunity to press gentle kisses to his master's chest, trailing his fingers down his front before circling them up the length of his back, coming to rest between his shoulder blades.

Zhangzi muffles a groan in Yixing's hair. His thrusts descend from thoughtful and controlled to manic, wild. His muscles stiffen as he nears completion. Yixing, versed in men who favor vocal toys, lets his own cries be heard, soft moans and affirmations pressed into the skin of his master's chest. He can feel his master's appreciation when Zhangzi finishes inside him, one hand wrapped around his arm so tightly that he can feel his heartbeat beneath the grip.

At first, Yixing doesn't feel it, not until Zhangzi moves, and it feels hot and liquid inside of him. It's the strangest thing he's ever felt, as nobody has ever been allowed to do this to him until now, and he would be more preoccupied with it were Zhangzi not catching his breath against the sensitive skin of Yixing's neck. He tries to be subtle when he twists away, tickled, but the wounded look on his master's face suggests that he has not succeeded.

Zhangzi sits back on his heels, looking down at Yixing's body. Yixing regards at about the same time as his master that his cock is only half interested after their first coupling. He hadn't noticed, more concerned with pleasing his master in their first encounter as owner and plaything, but Zhangzi looks distressed that he hasn't even fully hardened. He reaches towards Yixing, but Yixing takes his hand and uses it to pull himself up, crowding their faces together.

"Zhangzi, you will be called upon soon to make your appearance in court," he says, stroking his fingers through his master's hair. It's softer than it looks. "Go get ready. I'll be fine."

He reclines in bed to keep the mess inside of him from trickling out, and Zhangzi makes better use of his time in the washroom, wiping himself clean of sweat and oil. He strides back into the bedchamber, tall and powerful for all the worry that clouds his face when he's not carefully concealing it. Yixing watches him redress, reverent with the suit when he slips back into it. He seems as if he will leave without another word, but he stops by the bed first, stroking his fingers down Yixing's cheek.

"My name is Yifan," he says, not knowing that Yixing has already learned this. "You may address me as such. I—" and he stumbles here, frowning. He continues more mildly: "You do not need to call me Zhangzi. Especially not here."

Yixing smiles and nods obediently. "What about…duizhang?" he asks, remembering the escort's words from earlier, though as soon as he says it, the serene look on Yifan's face falls. He pulls his hand away from Yixing and says, gruffly,

"Never mind. Refer to me however you like." As he crosses the room to the door, and without turning back, he says, "I'll send Qing in to draw you a bath." And then he is gone.

Yixing stares after him for a long while, mouth hanging open in surprise. An uncomfortable feeling curls low in his stomach (worry, he realizes after a moment), but Yixing cannot find it in himself to be upset. Even just after their first meeting, Yixing knows that his master is a good man. Yixing has just offended him, somehow, and Yifan did not even scold him. Yixing knows of toys that are struck when they speak out of turn. He thanks heaven, which cursed him with a sharp tongue, for blessing him with a kind master.

Qing enters while Yixing continues to lie in bed, lost in his meditation on Yifan, and she clears her throat to draw his attention. Yixing glances over and recognizes her as the woman who greeted him at the front door. _Wonderful_ , she had said to him happily. "How was it?" she asks from where she stands by the bedroom door.

"Brief," Yixing says after a moment's hesitation.

Qing smiles. "Good. He is already late." Yixing begins to rise, and Qing clucks her tongue at him. "No, don't move. I'll help you once your bath is drawn." He settles back down and Qing crosses to the washroom. Moments after she disappears from sight, the sound of steady water crashing down against porcelain has Yixing sitting up anyways in surprise. Running water. He hadn't noticed it, hadn't even glanced at the tub earlier, but it has running water. Baths in the pleasure house still have to be drawn by hand, and though Yixing has not carried his own bathwater since puberty, the rise in status is a tangible feeling. He sinks sedately back into his mess of pillows, smiling.

When the bath is drawn, an incredibly short amount of time later, Qing takes his hand to steady him as he rises. His face creases unattractively at the messy feeling of Yifan's seed dribbling out of him, making a quick path down his leg, and Qing laughs at him. He turns to look at her, surprised and embarrassed, but her smile is still kind. In the washroom, she wipes clean what she can with a rag before assisting him over the high rim of the tub.

Yixing settles in and submerges himself up to his chin. The bath smells richly of oils, lavender and citrus strong in his nose and uplifting in his head. Qing busies herself laying out fresh towels and new clothes, but when she finishes, she doesn't leave like Yixing expected her to. Instead, she returns to him, beginning the delicate process of unthreading the gems from his hair. She is careful not to pull out as much of his own hair as she can manage, using a far gentler hand than the stylist who wove them in.

" _Da_ ," he says meekly after she has mostly finished clearing out his hair. "Is Zhangzi always so…quiet?" he asks, for lack of a better word. Yifan's reserve throughout the encounter hadn't seemed intentionally poignant, but as Yixing has had time to consider it, he realizes that silence is seldom an indication of satisfaction. Perhaps Zhangzi expected more for what he spent. Yixing thinks that he could be in trouble later, when Yifan has the time to deal with him. It is strange and taxing to be owned by a man he doesn't quite know yet.

"Only when he's nervous," Qing hums back conspiratorially. Yixing is certain that she knows more than she likes to let on, so he doesn't press.

"Why does he dislike the title duizhang?"

Qing's hands still where they're brushing through his hair, gently dismantling tangles. After a long moment, she speaks, her voice steady and wise. "I would say that he does not, as I called him such earlier this morning. Though perhaps he sees it as mocking, coming from a toy." Yixing parts his lips to speak, perhaps to defend himself, but Qing continues, lost on a train of thought. "Or," she starts, "perhaps that is not how he wishes his toy to see him. He is a good man. He will command your respect ere long without having to ask for it, of that I'm certain. But perhaps he is conscious of the control he has over you."

Yixing considers this, eyes widening minutely in surprise. A warmth rushes through him, not ignited by the hot water or the scented oils. He can't pinpoint exactly what makes him feel this way, except that perhaps he has never met a man who cared about what a toy was feeling beyond keeping it pampered and tamed.

After it becomes apparent that Yixing has nothing to say, Qing pats his shoulder. "Do remember, though, that I am only speculating. Yifan is a complicated man, but he is a kind one. If you think you have offended him, quiet your fears. It is not so easy to inflame duizhang's mild temper."

Yixing thanks her, though his mind has long since escaped to another place. Qing finishes with his hair and begins to scrub him down with a washcloth. He tells her that he can bathe himself, but she laughs and waves him off. Yixing smiles politely and allows her to finish, compliant and voiceless once more. At least she lets him dry himself once the bath is complete, instructing him to wait for her in the bedroom when he's done.

The clothes that she brought into the washroom are beautiful, cotton dyed the blue of hydrangeas, but they are too big. The sleeves slide almost completely past his fingers and the collar is loose enough to droop below his clavicle. It's a stylish cut for someone much taller than Yixing, but on him, it hangs strangely. He reenters the bedroom and glances at the bed, which has already been remade. He kneels down at its edge once more, the position harder to hold with the fabric of his robe slipping beneath his knees. He thanks heaven when Qing does not keep him waiting long.

She beams when she sees him, and Yixing worries that she is amused by his appearance. He pulls nervously at his sleeves, but Qing pushes his hands away. "It is regrettable that red is the color of good fortune, for blue suits you so much better." She tells him that she will be showing him to his bedroom, and Yixing pauses where he has begun to stand.

"Will my master not be expecting me to greet him when he returns?"

"I would not expect him to return until the morning."

Yixing hides his surprise but not his disappointment, much as he tries. Qing places a hand on his arm, possibly consoling, and watches him with a calculating look. She leads him into a room not very far from Yifan's, and Yixing wonders if the entire hall is perhaps made up of private suites belonging to his master. The room she shows him is much like Yifan's, except where Yifan's room is bare and open, Yixing is amazed to see his walls are lined with bookshelves stuffed to their corners. There is a writing desk in the far corner, and when he looks to the near corner, his breath is stolen from his lungs.

He makes his way towards it: a harp, beautifully carved with ornate insets, delicately painted in reds and golds. So much more elegant than the one on which he honed his skills. He reaches out to touch it, but withdraws just before he does. Such a beautiful thing could not possibly be for use.

But when he looks back at Qing, she nods approvingly. "Duizhang heard that among your many talents, you are a prolific musician. He thought it would be a sin to rob you of the joys of music, and he hopes that you will one day entertain for him and his guests at the estate."

Yixing's heart flutters in excitement. "Of course," he manages to say, bowing respectfully.

"Your _pipa_ has been delivered from your old house and is in Yifan's study, should you desire it. Duizhang has commissioned a new flute for you, as the one that accompanied your purchase was old and in very poor shape. And the _konghou_ ," she nods to the harp, "has been in the Wu family for many generations. He has had it restrung and polished. Please accept these gifts on his behalf." Qing bows deeply here, and Yixing's throat dries up.

"Of course," he repeats, all other words having fled his mind.

Qing continues, almost business-like. Yixing wonders what her position is, specifically. "Duizhang's schedule for these next few weeks will be very busy." Yixing nods; he's heard the rumors. Restlessness in the west, restlessness in the east, corruption in the capital. The Emperor has met his match. "We apologize that he will not have a routine for you in this time, but he would like to compensate by arranging a fitting for you at the earliest possible time. New robes, suits, and the matter of your collar."

Yixing bows. "I will continue to be available to him whenever he wishes."

Qing smiles. "Good." She hesitates for a moment, and Yixing waits. "Do you like him?"

"I think I will. Yes," he says honestly. "Qing-da?" he asks when she doesn't say anything.

"Yes?"

"Has my master granted me freedom to send letters? I wish to remain in correspondence with my brothers."

Qing hesitates, contemplating for a moment. "Not expressly, but if you leave your letters with me, I shall see that he receives your request."

Yixing nods gratefully. Qing excuses herself and leaves him alone to settle down at the desk. His first correspondence is to Zitao; he finds it only fair, since Zitao wrote him while he was still at the pleasure house, in-waiting. He briefly tells of the luxuries of his new home, the handsome face of his new master, and the anticipation of his collar. He asks Zitao of his own situation, and ends the letter by asking if Lu Han has epistolary privileges under his new master, for he has heard nothing from his eldest brother since his sale more than a month ago.

He folds the letter but does not seal it, in case it is to be reviewed before being sent, and he sets it at the corner of the desk. By now, the sun has set, and only dark amber light enters through his window. Yixing watches it for a while, grateful that his room is positioned to catch the sunset rather than the sunrise. With little else to occupy his time, he undresses and slips into bed, anticipating an early rise for his master.

 

Yixing is wakened by the click of his door shutting. He recognizes the tall silhouette in the darkness, even if he only saw it once before. Yixing sits up in bed, just enough to show his master that he is awake, and Yifan approaches him quietly. He sets something on the bedside table—oil, Yixing realizes—and Yixing opens his arms for Yifan to slide into them. After he rids himself of his suit jacket, he does.

He kisses Yixing sweetly, cupping his face in one large hand, and Yixing melts at the feeling. "What time is it?" he asks out of turn, sleep still muddying his mind and his manners. Yifan only laughs.

"Just a few minutes until the fourth bell. I could let you sleep, but I am required at court once again in the morning, and I would appreciate making the most of the little time I have."

Yixing sits up further, right into Yifan's embrace, and exclaims, "You have not slept!"

"No," Yifan murmurs, pressing kisses to his cheeks and ears and jaw. "But I will sleep much better with you."

His words are dark, deep, and they send a shiver through Yixing. He has never heard men speak to toys so sweetly, new toys least of all, though he reminds himself that his master's tired mind has been working for an entire day or more. Yixing has no idea how long it has been since his master last slept, his loosened tongue no doubt proof of his fatigue, so he resolves to do what is in his power as a toy to help Yifan find rest. He pulls his master back down to the mattress in an embrace, heated but idle. "How do you want me?" he asks.

"Like this," Yifan replies, their bodies flush against one another, their limbs entangled. Unbelievably intimate. "You are not prepared this time?" he asks as his kisses begin to wander once more.

"No," Yixing gasps, his body responding much more diligently than it did yesterday afternoon.

"Good," Yifan growls, parting only to reach for the decanter. "Then allow me."

His fingers are so much larger than Yixing's. They fill him more completely and reach so much deeper. Yixing clutches at the bedding around him as Yifan fingers him open, biting his lip to keep his cries from waking anybody unfortunate enough to be sleeping in the same wing as their coupling. Yifan leans forward and pulls his lip free with a kiss.

"We are alone here," he says, as though he has read Yixing's mind. "Do not silence yourself. Your voice is too beautiful."

With any other patron, Yixing would respond by embellishing his cries. Not in jest or disrespect, but because Yixing knows that most men desire a pleased partner but can rarely tell when they've got one. With Yifan, Yixing quickly finds that exaggeration is unnecessary. He relaxes, lips parting, and his pleasured gasps rise into high, whining moans whenever Yifan curls his fingers inside of him. Yifan's sharp eyes find him in the dark and he repeats the motion. Pre-ejaculate beads at the tip of Yixing's cock when he does, and he has to physically push Yifan's hand away.

"Please, master," he gasps desperately, the realization hitting him too suddenly, "I'm going to come."

Yifan presses him down, pushing his fingers back in. "Then come," he says, lips pressed to Yixing's neck, and he does. Untouched, for the first time in his life.

"Thank you," he sobs as he comes, his chest heaving with it. He's barely recovered when he tugs Yifan closer, reaching down to pull uselessly at the man's belt. Yifan laughs, interjecting with his clean hand to help. Distantly, Yixing realizes that if Yifan is still wearing his suit, he came to Yixing without even bothering to change his clothes.

It doesn't matter. Soon enough, Yifan and Yixing have managed to get his trousers open, and Yixing hardly lets Yifan stroke himself with whatever oil is left on his fingers before he is pulling him close. Yifan grunts in surprise, and Yixing worries that he has been too brash, but when his master huffs out a dazed laugh, he relaxes.

"Eager?" his master teases him.

"Please," Yixing whispers into the darkness. He drags his heel up the back of Yifan's leg, slowly and sensually, and Yifan grabs him by the thigh to spread him open.

"Yes," Yifan hisses as he pushes into Yixing in one smooth, steady drive. Yixing tightens in surprise and not a small bit of pleasure. "Heaven above, Yixing," Yifan moans, mouthing at the corner of Yixing's jaw. He begins to move in slow, gentle thrusts, the rhythm more sedative than it is breathtaking, and Yixing takes this time to begin unbuttoning Yifan's shirt. Yifan presses kisses to his face and his neck while he does and only pulls away when Yixing has completely opened the shirt to remove it completely.

"Your pants," Yixing says, unable to reach them himself.

Yifan groans, less pleasured and more put upon, but he does reach down and shove them out of the way enough to avoid ruin. "Any other requests?" he asks, his voice strained, lusty but playful.

Yixing trails his fingertips up the smooth skin of his master's back, rolling his hips. "Allow me to service you, master," he says, voice low and enticing.

"You are servicing me."

Yixing takes a hold of his master's hips, wrenching him down vehemently. "Allow me to service you _harder_."

Yifan actually laughs at this, taking Yixing's other thigh in his hand as well and rising up onto his knees. He spreads Yixing open until his muscles are pulled taut and thrusts in like this, reaching depths that Yixing has never felt before. Like this, Yifan asks him, "Is this how you wanted to service me?"

Breathily, though Yixing is uncertain that he is even breathing, he says, "Yes, master."

Yifan fucks him like this, hard and deep and relentless, until Yixing's arousal is full and proud once more. He protests at first when Yifan dismounts, falling back to the mattress with a huff, but when Yifan pulls at his legs and draws him up above, he understands. Wordlessly, he settles into Yifan's lap, sinking down onto his cock with a relieved moan, and he resumes the pace his master set for him.

To his greatest pride and satisfaction, his master finishes first. Holding onto Yixing like only he could keep him earthbound, moaning out his name with reverence. Yixing comes only moments later, his frenzied bucking slowing into a filthy grind as he jerks himself in a tight fist.

"Please, master," he whimpers, so close to the edge that he thinks he could let go of himself and still finish if he only heard his master's voice giving him permission.

"Yixing, yes," Yifan says, his hands sliding up Yixing's body as though to touch him, to pull him closer, embrace him, but Yixing is already coming. Yifan lets him finish before moving him, letting his own cock slip free of the heat of Yixing's body. "I can fetch something to clean you with," he offers as he pushes his clothes over the side of the bed. He sounds tired and reluctant. Yixing curls himself against Yifan's side, securing an arm around his waist, and he shakes his head.

"Tomorrow," he mumbles, already knowing that it will be uncomfortable, but Yifan is exhausted and his long day is finally over. Yixing would be nothing of a good toy if he couldn't suffer just a little bit of discomfort for the satisfaction of his master. Yifan's hand stroking his hair has him believing that he has said the right thing, and the gentle kiss to his lips that follows seems almost unnecessary. Nonetheless, Yixing accepts it because his master gives it, and his master gives it well. A fluttering sets loose in Yixing's stomach, and he thinks unrestrainedly of how happy he is with Yifan only after two days. How happy he is with Yifan, not only as a master but as a man. His eyes slide shut and he falls asleep to the rhythmic sound of Yifan's breathing.

 

Yifan has already left for the palace when Yixing wakes. His letter has been sent and the royal tailors are waiting on him, attacking with swaths of cloth and needles and measuring tapes as soon as he enters their workspace. They leave him with several quickly crafted robes for lounging (one of which Yifan accidentally tears when he sees it hanging loosely off of Yixing's shoulders. They are careful to completely undress Yixing before coupling after that).

His new clothes come days later, in vibrant silks and intricately embroidered cottons. Yifan commemorates the occasion by dressing him up and bringing him down to dinner, which he hosts for the city's judge. The judge commends Yifan on his excellent purchase, as do all other guests that have the pleasure of meeting Zhangzi's toy.

The praise is sweet, but Yifan's touch is sweeter. Yixing craves it especially for its scarcity; war roils in the east, and Yixing aches for his master's warmth on the long days and nights that he spends at the palace. Never before in his life has he had such a surplus of leisure time. He practices his music and continues to write letters, even to Lu Han. Though Yifan is not home often, and when he is home he is often sleeping, Yixing's master manages to hear about his practice in dance. He grants Yixing rooms to continue his study. Yixing keeps himself fit in this way, basking in his master's pleasure with the slimness of his waist and the curve of his thighs.

But still his master has little time to appreciate him. Yixing doesn't count the days, he never has, but it feels like a dog's age since he was bought and he can still count the number of times he's lain with Yifan in his head. Qing-jie is kind enough, offering him news and companionship when she can, but Yixing finds that he has grown immensely fond of his master's kind touch and warm embrace. Though he has not known it long, he misses it deeply when it is gone.

Yixing does not know how to tell Yifan that he would rather never sleep again so that he may embrace Yifan when he comes home, than to have Yifan decide to let him sleep and miss him entirely, as he does many times when their schedules disagree. So he doesn't, and many a night passes where Yifan returns home long after Yixing has fallen asleep and is gone before he can wake, the strewn bedcovers on the empty side of his bed the only evidence that he was ever there in the first place.

It is one of these mornings, Yixing staring forlornly at the spot where Yifan had slept without him even knowing it, when Qing knocks and enters briskly. Yixing doesn't rise yet—Yifan's impression in the sheets is still warm, and he wishes to cling to it until he has squandered its glow entirely—but he turns his head to acknowledge her, and to her credit, she does not blush or turn away from his disrobed state.

"Duizhang would like you to be prepared this afternoon for your next appointment with the royal tailors."

Yixing sits up a little bit then, a trouble that he has carried with him in his days at this estate scrambling to the forefront of his thoughts. He opens his mouth to speak but hesitates, and Qing, ever intuitive, inclines her head forward. "Do you have a concern?"

Falteringly, Yixing says, "Yes, jiejie." Qing gestures for him to continue, and he asks her, "Has my master made any mention of my collar?"

Qing hums in understanding. "If it is convenient to you, duizhang would prefer to be present during the fitting for your collar."

Present. _Present_. Yifan would like to be _present_ for the fitting of his collar. Yixing flushes when he thinks about it: Yifan choosing the cut of leather, the tooling, the metal of the buckle. Whether it will be encrusted or embroidered or left plain. Yifan gifting him with a collar that is made for him only, lusting for him whenever he sees the collar that makes Yixing his, the collar that he chose for Yixing. He finds himself inconveniently aroused by the fantasy and has to tie his robes loosely for his meeting with the tailors.

They fit Yixing for a small collection of Western suits. They measure him meticulously and invasively, taking measurements where he never though he would need to be measured, and at the end of the afternoon, he isn't given any cloth or design to look at. Just an assurance from the tailors that the fit will be just to his liking.

Yixing retires from the afternoon more annoyed with his clothes than he is excited for them. He slowly makes his way through the halls back to his room, and he's just found the right hallway when Qing passes by, not even stopping as she tells him to go straight to Yifan's room. He smiles, surprised and excited, and quickens his pace as he heads that way. Yifan hasn't been home this early in days.

In his excitement, Yixing enters without knocking and is startled by the image of his master, undressed and sprawled in bed. Relaxed, peaceful. Sleeping. Yixing stands in the doorway, staring at the bed in shock, and then back down the hallway, even though Qing has long since left.

For a long while, that's how he stands. It isn't until Yifan mumbles something in sleep, rolling to show Yixing his back, that Yixing finally steps inside, shutting the door slowly and silently. He steps just to the side of the doorframe and settles down onto his knees, not even bothered by the burden of his posture because he is so enthralled in his master's sleeping form. He thinks on it for a while, but Yixing is certain that he's never observed his master sleeping before. He leaves too early and returns home too late.

Yifan sleeps fitfully. Tossing and turning, eyelids fluttering as though he longs to wake. His muscles tremble, shoulders shrugging loosely and hands closing over nothing, and he looks incredibly young like this. Yixing watches for the better part of an hour before Yifan wakes, rolling over as if to go back to sleep before realizing that Yixing is there.

He blinks blearily, rubbing his eyes and sitting up a little bit. Yixing stretches his back and lowers his chin, but he never takes his eyes off of his master. Yifan continues to wake slowly, even yawning at one point before beckoning Yixing closer.

He slides into the embrace that Yifan opens up to him, settling down against his chest when Yifan hugs him close. Yifan's breathing continues at a slow, tired pace, but the fingers stroking Yixing's spine suggest that his master is still awake. He asks, "When do you have to go back to the palace?"

Yifan shifts, turning his head a little. Yixing lifts his eyes to look up at him, but Yifan's face is blank. "Early," he says, his voice rough with sleep, and perhaps overuse. Yixing turns his head to press a kiss to his chest, pressing another one to his stomach, and eventually settling himself into a lazy trail. Yifan gasps and threads his fingers through Yixing's hair. "I will be free in two days' time," he groans when Yixing kisses down to his hips.

Yixing communicates his elation in a small squeeze where he is balancing his weight on Yifan's thighs. His master has completely foregone clothing for the evening, and Yixing revels momentarily in the unhindered view of Yifan's beautiful form. Yifan re-secures his attention with a gentle tug of his hair, and Yixing ducks his head down without further delay.

He takes his master's cock into his mouth, letting him feel the heat there before sliding down until the crown breaches his throat. Yifan groans, releasing Yixing's hair to grip instead at the bedsheets. Yixing hums sharply, letting go of his perch on Yifan's thighs to grapple for his hands. He takes them, placing them on his face, and then he pulls at Yifan's hips. After a moment, his master seems to understand.

His hips twitch delicately at first, but Yixing takes him to the very root to dispel whatever reserves he holds. Yifan's eyes darken then, the sweet young man disappearing beneath the weight of his lust as he begins to fuck Yixing's mouth in earnest. Yixing hums and groans, secretly pleased by the thought of his master using him like this. He reaches down to stroke himself, his intentions lazy and distracted, but when Yifan sees what he's doing, he hisses and says, "Yes, Yixing, fuck, touch yourself."

Yixing does. He moans, curling his tongue up against the underside of Yifan's cock, and Yifan's thrusts get stiffer, deeper as he watches Yixing. He turns his body to the side so that Yifan can see him more fully, and Yifan finishes then, coming down Yixing's throat. He swallows what he can, coughs out what he can't, and swallows again, looking up into his master's eyes.

"Yixing, come here," he instructs, his voice rough with want, and Yixing goes, crawling into his master's lap. Yifan sits up, crushing their lips together as his hand pushes Yixing's out of the way. His grip on Yixing's cock is perfect, circling the head, thumb catching on the ridge so that Yixing loses his mind with it, almost forgetting to ask permission before he comes. Yifan doesn't even let him finish his request, just growls, "Fuck, yes, Yixing, do it," before kissing him again, and that's how he goes.

Yifan lowers them back down to the mattress, Yixing rested against his chest, and they lay in silence for a long while. If Yixing's wits were more present, he would be concerned with how addicting this feeling is, being held and pampered by his master in the afterglow. But they're not. He drifts in a sleepy daze, his body sated and heavy, even more so knowing that his master feels the same.

It isn't until Yifan is shifting beneath him that he rises back to full consciousness. "You need a bath," Yifan says, and it suddenly seems like he's trying to get up. Yixing's heart jumps when he realizes what Yifan is doing. He pulls him back down.

"Master, let me—" Yixing starts, but Yifan kisses him into silence.

"It's alright, Yixing. I'm awake now. I can handle it."

He sets Yixing to the side, rising from the bed to the full power of his standing height and Yixing feels the stirs of arousal reigniting. He reclines reluctantly as Yifan pads into his washroom, the crash of water resounding through Yifan's rooms a moment later. The steady sound of it lulls Yixing into a doze. He isn't sure how much time has passed when Yifan comes back out, lifting Yixing out of the bed like a bride and waking him completely and immediately.

"Master!" he cries, clutching to Yifan's shoulders as his balance is upheaved, but when he looks up into Yifan's face, all he sees is amusement. He scowls, though Yifan treats it more like a pout and kisses him on the nose.

"Come," he says, "the water is ready."

Yifan lowers him in, and Yixing watches Yifan curiously. The master, drawing the bath for the toy? His worries dim when Yifan makes a shooing gesture and says, "Make room."

He settles in against Yixing's back, cradling him close. Yixing relaxes into him, fingertips skimming the top of the water. At first, he is too hot, but the longer he sits still and relaxes, the better the water feels. As the silence in the room lingers, Yixing realizes that he can feel Yifan's heartbeat where they are connected, back to chest. Yifan mouths at his ear, and Yixing presents more skin for him. When his master speaks, his lips move against the back of Yixing's neck.

"Are you happy here?" he asks.

Yixing smiles. "I am, master."

Yifan hums, his kisses taking shape so that they are more than just formless, haphazard smooches. They press in fine points across Yixing's neck. He bears them for as long as he is able before twisting away, whimpering softly. Yifan is watching him oddly when Yixing glances over his shoulder, but his master asks, "Does it tickle you?" before Yixing can explain himself. He nods, flushing, but Yifan's eyes light up with understanding and intrigue. The expression makes Yixing nervous, so he hides his neck in his hands and says,

"I am very happy here, master. You treat me well. Better than I ever expected to be handled."

Yifan frowns, sufficiently distracted, and Yixing lowers his hands back into his lap. Yifan’s voice is strange when he asks, "What did you expect?"

Yixing shrugs, leaning back against his master's chest. "I don’t remember. I only know that I hoped for a master like my brothers had. I had very few experiences before you." Yifan stiffens, silent for longer than Yixing would expect. He turns, his face very close to his master's; there, he can see Yifan's dismay. Yixing cocks his head. "Master?"

Yifan blushes, averting his eyes, his large hands maneuvering Yixing back into place. He is silent for another count before abruptly asking, "You weren't—?" He cuts himself short, but Yixing thinks he understands. He giggles, and then politely hides the sound behind his hands.

"No, master. I was not a virgin." Yifan relaxes, letting out a deep breath, and Yixing turns to nuzzle against his throat. "You should not have worried. That was sold many years ago."

Yifan hums thoughtfully. "I don't remember hearing about that."

Yixing smiles shyly. "I was not as popular back then."

Yixing settles back against his master's chest, sliding down so that he is reclining. His knees jut out of the water, and he bends them back and forth to make ripples. After a moment, Yifan says, "I don't believe for a second that you were anything less than Heaven's most favored," before falling silent once more. Yixing's stomach flutters, and he closes his eyes and dreams that they could have this type of moment together every night.

"Your hours at court have been long," he says, not meaning to sound as petulant as he probably does.

Yifan dips forward, pressing his kisses now to Yixing's shoulder and then resting there. "They have," he agrees, sounding less content with that than even Yixing. "There is war coming." Yixing gasps, but Yifan tightens his hold on him protectively. "I have done my part in the discussions, and I will be granted a small recess in two days' time."

Yixing turns his head but is unable to fully look Yifan in the face. "On what occasion?"

"The highest level of court officials will choose their demands and attend a mediation."

"You will not be attending with them?"

"My role in court is…advisory, at best."

Yixing hums, reclining with a mottle of delight and lament whirling in his head. Of course, selfishly, he is thrilled at the thought of Yifan being home soon. He tries not to wonder if Yifan is as happy as he is about that. Men seem to value power, even over leisure; it is difficult to tell whether or not Yifan is bitter about his position. At the very least, it means that in two days' time, Yixing will finally have his master to himself, if only for a few short days.

Yifan traces his skin while he thinks. First, the smooth pads of his fingers pressed against the flesh of Yixing's lips. Yixing catches them, but only barely and briefly. Yifan tugs them free and drags them down his chin, across the contours of his throat and straight down the center of his chest. Yixing thinks that his master might take him again, here in this tub, but Yifan's path swerves from his midline and maps down Yixing's thighs instead. The way back up is just as tame, tickling his sides (Yixing only squirms a little bit, biting his lip to trap his laughter) and when he works his way down Yixing's arms to the very tips of his fingers, he laces their hands together and lets them settle back into the water.

"I've spoken with your brothers' masters."

Yixing blinks, and his grip on Yifan's hands tightens. Yifan nuzzles at the nape of his neck, soothing him, and says, "They have agreed to bring your brothers to the palace for the reception the day before deliberations close, if you wish to see them."

There are many gifts that a toy can expect when he is bought by a rich man. His collar, first and foremost. Clothes, food, and wines. Jewels for the toys that are fair of face, books for the toys that are sharp of mind, instruments for the toys that are gifted with music, rooms for those that are skilled in dance. Yixing has already been given more than he ever thought he would deserve. His chest feels tight around his lungs, his heart thrumming in happiness as Yifan casually offers him more. More than every single gift he's been given so far, not only by Yifan but by any man who ever sought to please him. He turns as much as he is able, dislodging Yifan's mouth where it presses to his neck but immediately loving those lips with a kiss. Yifan holds him close, smiling when they part.

"Is that a yes?"

Yixing could cry, he could shout, _of course yes, of course_ , but all he can manage is a winded, "Thank you."

"There will be other toys there. The Emperor is hosting that night for foreign mediators. Many men will bring their toys to brighten their arms."

Yixing, emboldened in his elation, fixes his master with a coy look. "And you?"

"Will have the brightest arm in the room."

Yixing's face breaks in a smile, flattered but embarrassed. Yifan's line is terrible but his smile is beautiful, and more than anything, Yixing thinks that he means what he says. "Master, I'm blushing," he mumbles, turning his gaze away.

"Good," Yifan says, kissing him sweetly. "It makes you look humble." He settles back against the rim of the tub, and Yixing settles against his chest. He can hear his master's heartbeat like this, his head moving with the gentle motions of Yifan's breath. In two nights, he'll see Zitao. He'll see Lu Han. Thinking about it has his ribs constricting gleefully all over again, lips tucked between his teeth against the thrilled pull of a smile in his cheeks. He thinks he could lie here in his master's arms, in this happiness, forever, even later when Yifan pulls him out of the tub and dries him off.

Yifan invites him to stay in his room for the night, and Yixing doesn't even pretend to protest. They've shared a bed many times, though this is the first time Yifan has actually invited him to stay. Yixing is not unused to men wishing to keep their toys with them at night, close by for easy access, but it's just as simple for Yixing to pretend that when his master holds him close in sleep, he is glad for more than just having a toy within reach. Yixing knows that these thoughts are unhealthy, that they won't do him any good when his service in this house is expended, but his master is young and kind and handsome and it is difficult to resist succumbing to such fantasies.

In the morning, Yifan wakes Yixing by kissing him. Yixing opens his mouth to it, not even bothered by the ripeness of early morning breath, and he instinctively begins to trail his hands down Yifan's torso. Yifan grabs him before he can get too low, moaning into his mouth and pulling away just enough to say, "Too early," before pinning Yixing down with several more lazy kisses.

Yixing thinks that Yifan will waken soon, and he waits for Yifan's kisses to grow hotter, but they don't. He does wake fully, but chastely, holding Yixing around his waist and only letting his kisses stray as far as Yixing's cheeks. "How did you sleep?" he asks after awhile, and Yixing smiles.

"Very well," he says. "Thank you, master." _Better in your arms_ , he doesn't say. _Let me always wake up in your arms, master_.

"Good," Yifan murmurs, breathing in deep before rising from the bed. Yixing watches him move about, between the washroom and his closet, slowly becoming more and more dressed with each trip he makes. Yixing's eyelids droop, though, weighted with early morning laziness, and Yifan has to shake him a little to get a good-bye kiss. "I should be home before dark tonight," he says by way of parting. Yixing's heart flutters with happiness.

 

It's past midday, just after lunch when Qing interrupts his music practice to tell him that Yifan has called. He will be home much earlier than he anticipated, and he would like Yixing to be ready for him when he arrives. Qing mentions quietly that he sounded tense, and that Yixing's compassion and understanding are what duizhang needs most this evening.

She's not wrong. Yifan storms in, tie hanging loosely around his neck, shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, his hair in disarray, and his strides long and stomping. Yixing is kneeling patiently at the foot of the bed, startled when Yifan yanks him up by the arm and thrusts an embrace upon him. His tongue slides into Yixing's mouth before he has fully grabbed hold of what is happening. He realizes that he's clenched his hands in Yifan's suit, and he lets go, smoothing the fabric. He runs his fingers through his master's hair, calming, pleased when Yifan's passionate fire dies into an exhausted ember. Yifan sags against him, his expression pained, and wordlessly, Yixing lays him out on the bed.

"Master," he says, crawling up Yifan's body slowly. As he goes, he pushes Yifan's clothes out of the way just enough for his task. "May I take care of you tonight?"

Yifan moans, pushing his head back into the pillow when Yixing grinds down against him, already wet and loose from his fingers. "Yes," he finally manages when Yixing doesn't move further, thrusting his hips up to catch the head of his cock against Yixing's entrance. Yixing steadies him and lowers himself down onto it, his breath taken away by the stretch, and Yifan grabs onto his thighs. "Fuck," he spits out, hips twitching, driving deeper into Yixing.

Yixing takes Yifan's hands where they grip him too hard, laying them up beside his head. He laces their fingers together, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips, and he rides his master slow and deep. Yifan's hands squeeze his fingers where they're linked at first, but he slowly lets go, little by little. Yixing's smile glows with pride. His master's cheeks are flushed, his mouth hanging open, and Yixing doesn't know if he's ever seen Yifan look so beautiful.

Yixing releases Yifan's hands when he has fully relaxed into the mattress, and Yifan takes advantage of his freedom by wrapping his arms around Yixing's back, pulling him close. Yixing goes, tucking his face into his master's neck, and Yifan starts rolling his hips up to meet Yixing's passive, bouncing rhythm. They both moan, Yixing lifting his head enough for their lips to catch against one another, and Yifan comes with little fanfare. He gasps into Yixing's mouth and grabs his hips to keep him still, and then he lets Yixing dismount and roll to the side.

"I'm sorry," he says immediately. Yixing stares, surprised and curious, and Yifan turns his head to look at him. "For grabbing you when I came in. I was agitated, but that is no excuse."

Yixing lifts a hand to caress Yifan's cheek, and he smiles. "Please do not apologize, master," he says. Yifan rolls over to embrace him, pressing kisses to his neck and chest.

"Tell me you forgive me," he says, thumbs stroking Yixing's hips. Yixing's cock, still full and wanting, twitches desperately.

"It is not my place to— _oh_ ," Yixing gasps when Yifan takes him in his hand, sliding down his body.

"Let me atone, then," his master implores, the hot breath of his words torturous against the sensitive skin of Yixing's cock. Yixing rises, startled, and Yifan pushes him back down to the bed. It does little to quiet his thundering heart. "If you would permit me."

Yixing is so close to finishing just from the thought of it, but he won't. He won't let Yifan degrade himself like this. Yifan is his master; Yifan is the Emperor's grandson. Yifan is a man of status, and Yixing is merely his plaything; he is appalled that Yifan would even insinuate such pandering. Yifan grasps his discomfort and leans up, kissing him to quiet the worries in his head. "All you have to do is tell me no."

"You can't," Yixing says instead.

"Why not?"

"It's not…"

"Allowed?" Yifan asks, amused. "You _are_ mine. Am I not allowed to do what I want with you?"

Yixing flushes. "Yes, but—"

"I'd like to make you come, Yixing. Will using my mouth not help me do this?" He lowers himself between Yixing's legs again, still waiting, stroking him lightly while he anticipates Yixing's answer. Yixing bucks into his grip, moaning, deprived of his ability to answer coherently. He sinks back into the sheets, squirming and panting, _conflicted_ , and he greatly wishes that Yifan would make the decision for him. But Yifan waits.

"Please," Yixing finally manages, and Yifan takes that as his answer. He ducks down, licking a thick stripe from the seam of his sac up to the very crown, the heat and slickness on his delicate flesh entirely new to Yixing. He tangles his fists in the sheets to keep from pulling his master's hair, and he cries out freely, unable to quiet himself. Yifan takes the head into his mouth, and Yixing feels dangerously on edge. He flushes, trying hard to contain himself, but Yifan pushes two fingers into him and swallows him down completely, and Yixing finishes in Yifan's mouth with a full-bodied shudder.

Yifan swallows, and as soon as Yixing's wits return to him, he pries himself away, prattling off apologies, begging forgiveness, worrying that he's just overstayed his welcome in his master's bed. Yifan has to raise his voice to talk over him when he says, "Please, Yixing, do recall that _I_ was trying to apologize to _you_."

"What?"

"Did you enjoy it?"

"Master, I didn't…I… _yes_ , but that's not—"

"Then be still. Don't worry so much."

Yixing stares up into Yifan's eyes, noticing the concern there, and his stomach twists. He came without permission. He came _in his master's mouth_. And Yifan is acting like he's fretting for nothing. Like…he's already been forgiven. Tentatively, he reaches a hand out to card through Yifan's messy hair. Yifan presses into the touch, sighing in relief.

"I enjoy doing that," he says quietly when he settles back down onto the bed. "It would please me if you let me do it again."

If anybody were to find out about this, Yifan would be ruined. Labeled a deviant, depraved. And yet, Yixing swallows thickly, nervously, and he nods. "Of course, master." He tries not to sound too eager. Yifan reaches up to caress him, and Yixing leans in towards the touch. "If I may ask," he begins quietly.

"Hm?"

"You _did_ grab me…quite hard." Yifan tenses as Yixing says this, and he holds his master close to calm him. "Something must have upset you," he finishes, hoping that his question has been construed.

"Oh," Yifan murmurs, his voice darkening with frustration. "Please, Yixing, don't let me worry you."

Yixing nuzzles close, pressing kisses into Yifan's hairline. "If my master has troubles on his mind, they trouble me as well."

Yifan sighs, sitting up and looking into Yixing's eyes. His hardened frown crumbles, unable to withstand the smile that pulls it upwards, and he climbs forward so that the two of them are level. He heaves a deep breath, and with an abundance of patience that did not exist moments ago, he says, "The men of the Emperor's court are like children. They do not consider the consequences of their actions. They especially do not consider the consequences their actions will have on the people of the empire. I am afraid that the foreign mediation will not succeed."

Though he doesn't speak in specifics, Yixing thinks that he understands his master's fears. He kisses his cheeks, worships his jaw, and lacking the savvy to speak politically with his master, he says, "Zhangzi understands compassion and humility better than those below his station. I am fortunate to have such a man for a master." Yifan swallows thickly, his arms coiling tightly around Yixing as though he is afraid to let him go. Yixing curls closer to him, simply elated by the affection.

 

Yifan takes his dinner in the formal dining hall with his father. Yixing eats in his room and resolves to wait in his bed for Yifan to fetch him, if he intends to do so tonight. He doesn't remember falling asleep, but he does wake feeling lost and disoriented when Yifan comes in after it's already dark.

"What time is it?" he slurs, realizing that he never undressed. Yifan is pulling out of his own clothes, and Yixing follows his example, much less gracefully. His sleepy limbs tangle in the bedsheets and Yifan moves to help him.

"Late," Yifan says. "I meant to fetch you sooner, but we can just sleep in here tonight."

Yixing mumbles his response, sinking back into the covers when they've finally managed to kick his robes away. Yifan moves around to the other side of the bed, slipping in behind him, and Yixing returns to sleep before Yifan can take pleasure from him. In the morning, Yixing questions whether Yifan sought to use him at all when he came into this bed. The idea that his master was in his bed with only the intention to hold him in sleep stirs something in him, something that leaves him feeling uneasy. For once, he has woken earlier than Yifan, and he whiles away the morning by reclining in his master's arms, fantasizing shamefully about great romances.

When Yifan does wake (or more specifically, when Qing finally finds him and wakes him), he has Yixing accompany him back to his own bedroom. He reminds Yixing on the way, "We have to get you dressed for this evening. We'll be taking a car to the palace after lunch."

Yixing's stomach twists when he remembers. His brothers are going to be there. He bites his lip and takes his master's hand, thanking him several times before they reach Yifan's room. Yifan just smiles broadly, squeezing his fingers. Even the uncomfortable fit of the suit Yifan dresses him in doesn't dim his happiness. It's not until Yifan pulls out a collar that his good mood starts to wilt.

Yixing looks at it warily, and then back up at Yifan. Yifan appears apologetic, but he doesn't put it away. Yixing is already feeling strange, his western clothes stiff, clinging to him like nothing else he's worn in his life. He thought he'd been fortunate to escape wearing a tie, but now, it seems, he faces a fate much worse. The collar that Yifan is offering is old. _Used_. Yixing knows that Yifan has owned toys prior to him, but he's never been forced to acknowledge that before now.

Really, he doesn't have any right to be offended, either. Many families keep their toys' collars for years, passing them down from one to the next until the leather is old and thin and in need of proper replacing; at least the collar Yifan is holding is well-kept and polished. But Yixing had been told that Yifan would commission a new collar for him, something that would remind Yifan and others only of his ownership of Yixing. Not this collar, which already holds the memory of another toy. His hesitance to wear it must show on his face, for Yifan immediately interrupts his thoughts, saying,

"It's temporary. I promise. Just for the reception. I have no doubt that you will be recognized as mine by all guests in attendance; your beauty alone is renowned throughout the entire capital," and as he says this, he approaches, tentatively strapping the collar around Yixing's throat. Yixing tenses beneath his touch. "But," he continues, leaning forward to nose at Yixing's pulse, calming him, "should another man succumb to your beauty as I have, and desire you, I will not give him the excuse of ignorance of your claim."

Yixing's heart flutters at Yifan's speech, though his discomfort lingers. Still, he is in no position to directly defy his master's wishes. He lets Yifan tighten the collar, test the fit, and press a kiss to his lips as a reward for his compliance, however sour. Yixing accepts it, though he doesn't relinquish his pout. Yifan laughs at that, thumb pulling teasingly at his bottom lip.

"We will have time during the court's recess to get you your own collar."

That raises his spirits, but insignificantly. He will still be attending his first public event in a used collar. He hopes that the rumors won't have anything too acidic to say about that. Yifan finishes dressing him and threatens to leave him behind if he doesn't stop frowning. Yixing sighs and tries to smooth out his features. Never in his life has he had such a difficult time faking a smile.

 

The ride to the palace feels long in the car. The roads are rural, and though the car moves faster than a pair of horses, it still ambles instead of galloping. Yixing relaxes against his master's side, hands wandering over his chest. He considers sliding down to his knees and pleasing Yifan on the way; the thought of it alone excites him to hardness in his slacks. But then Yifan touches his neck, right where the skin disappears beneath the borrowed collar, and Yixing's good mood closes off so quickly that its absence leaves him bitter. He retracts his hands, and though he doesn't pull away from Yifan, he thinks his master understands. He wraps his arm around Yixing, squeezing him, and they take the ride in silence, neither awkward nor comfortable.

The palace, when they arrive, is like nothing Yixing has ever seen before. Even the Wu estate pales in comparison. Yifan's halls are elegant, truly; nobody would ever mistake his dwelling for a merchant's home. But there is also a practicality about his rooms. Yixing cannot think of a single aspect of the estate that isn't somehow functional. The palace, by comparison, is excessive in its embellishments. The walls are painted in vibrant colors. The hardwood floors are laid in intricate designs. Every chandelier has an arrangement of crystals hanging from every arm. The entire estate seems to exist merely for its own beauty, but Yixing is glad to be able to witness it all the same.

There are already a great many people being admitted when they arrive. The sun is just beginning to approach the horizon on the distant side of the palace, and Yixing is sore from sitting all afternoon. His back remembers the bumpy ride when he slides out of the car, and Yifan steadies him with an arm around his waist until he has rediscovered his grace. Only then do they make their appearance in the assembly hall.

Yixing has attended parties before. Usually in less clothes with more drinking, but he has seen great rooms with large amounts of people before, and he's still never seen anything like this. It's a feature of the capital, he thinks, that one room can contain more people than there are living in the village of his birth. Yifan leads him with an arm wrapped around his waist, and Yixing is certain that this is for fear of losing each other in the crowd. He is certain that they would.

They approach the Emperor first, Yifan bowing and addressing him formally as his subject, and then informally as his grandson. The Emperor greets him cordially, and exclaims over Yixing's beauty. Yixing bows and thanks him, flustered. _The Emperor_ , he thinks, looking wildly at Yifan when they rejoin the crowd. Yifan smiles at him, leaning in close to ask over the ringing of conversation in the air, "Did you not know that the Emperor still has his sight?" he teases, and Yixing's expression falls flat with seriousness.

"Yifan, he called me _beautiful_."

"Yes, Yixing, we have just established that he is not blind." If they were at home, Yixing would push Yifan playfully, making a game of his dalliance. In public, he merely flushes and turns away, drawn back into his master's grasp by Yifan's long arms. "You have been called beautiful before. You will be called beautiful many more times before the night is over, and then many times after that. Do not get so excited over the approval of a man that doesn't even take care of you at night."

"You can only say that because you are his family." But Yixing is feeling mildly more composed. He'd been worried that he would not enjoy tonight, that the collar around his neck would weigh him down, but in his master's arms, he feels light. And Yifan is right—not a single guest who stops them departs without commending Yifan on his stunning toy, an admittedly exceptional purchase. Not a single guest glances twice at his collar. He glows with pride, and Yifan even more so.

Yixing holds fast to Yifan's side throughout the evening while his master greets other guests; linked arm in arm or by their fingers, or sometimes hanging off of his shoulder, cheek pillowed on his chest. Yifan's hands stray across his body lovingly, naturally, never taking much thought or attention. For Yifan and Yixing, the intimacy is standard. Yixing can see other toys around the room with an artifice to their tenderness, the same sort that Yixing was trained in. But nothing about how Yifan holds him feels faked.

They stand so close that Yixing would think nothing could separate them, until it does. He gasps, shaken through his whole body when he's wrenched away from Yifan by the waist. Yifan whirls around, the look in his eyes terrifying, but it doesn't last. He looks confused for a moment, and then surprised for a moment longer. "Junmyeon," he says, smiling at someone just beyond Yixing. Yixing pries himself out of the grasp on his waist to see Zitao, and the man who he presumes is his brother's master.

Zitao looks sheepish, as does Junmyeon, but Yixing sees his brother and launches immediately into his arms, so he understands how the excitement could get the better of him. Zitao compliments him on his modern attire, eyes boldly roaming the expanse of his house-brother's form. Zitao, himself, looks well dressed, well fed, and well pampered, with bangles on his wrists and studs in his ears; his collar is sleek and modern, a silver ring with svelte engravings circling the base of his throat. His smile is kittenish and knowing whenever he looks over at Junmyeon, who looks composed in his conversation with Yifan until he notices Zitao watching him. Yifan clucks his tongue when he notices Zitao and Yixing giggling at the ambassador, and he swats them away, telling them to find their eldest brother while they're here.

Zitao takes Yixing's hand. "I know where he is," he says, cutting a straight line through the crowds until they come upon a short man with a toy on either side of him, and Zitao bows respectfully. Yixing follows, noticing that one of the toys is Lu Han when he straightens. The man in the middle smiles, pushing Lu Han forward, and he cocks his head to marvel at the three of them together.

"The rumors have almost become lore in the city: three brothers with fair heads, dark gazes, and quick tongues. You three are truly a sight from heaven." His feline eyes narrow in on Yixing, and he steps forward, examining the collar. Yixing, who had almost completely forgotten about it, flushes with embarrassment, but the man's smile widens and he steps back. "You must be Yixing." Yixing bows again, evoking a melodic laugh from the man. "Your master and I have a long, rich history together. And if you are here, that means that Zhangzi must be in the crowds tonight."

Yixing bows. "He is, sir."

The man laughs again. "Well point him out to me. Seeing him at a party is quite a rare occurrence, I should hate to miss it."

Zitao turns, indicating the path they just took, and the man steps away from his other toy, thanking Yixing and his brothers before departing into the throng. Lu Han embraces Yixing once he's gone, saying into his hair, "He's right, you know. We thought that since you were sold to nobility, we would see you more often than we have."

"Zhangzi has been busy," Yixing says, though he wraps his arms around Lu Han's waist and holds him close. "I am happy to see you now, though."

Lu Han steps away and reaches for his master's other toy, who wears an amused expression but goes into his grasp easily. Yixing notices that his brother and this toy wear matching collars. "If this is your first time out, you will not have met Xiumin," Lu Han says, resting his chin on the toy's shoulder.

"Minseok," the toy corrects gently. "My name is Minseok." Lu Han hums thoughtfully.

"Yes. That's his other name."

"Other name?"

Minseok nods respectfully. "My master brought me from his home in the east. In my time here, I have been gifted with a second name."

Yixing smiles. "Minseok," he says, only experiencing a little bit of trouble pronouncing it. Lu Han watches on ecstatically, his smile brighter than Yixing has ever seen it before. Zitao, however, looks bored, like he may wander off soon if something doesn't stop him, so Yixing reaches out and takes his hand.

"Ge," Zitao whines at Lu Han. "Xing-ge and I are going to go sit."

Lu Han scowls, taking a hold of Minseok. "Well we're going to sit with you, too," he snaps, and Zitao gives him a pleased smile, content to have his way. There are couches along a far wall, some of them occupied by other toys. Zitao claims one and pulls Yixing into his lap so that there is space for Lu Han and Minseok. The two of them sit close enough together that Yixing could fit on the cushions if he wanted, but instead, he curls up to his brother, comfortable in his perch.

Zitao tells Yixing about politics, which he may not understand well or care much for but hears a great deal of as the toy of an ambassador. Lu Han doesn't speak much about his master, but he has many stories involving Minseok, so Yixing believes that he must be happy. He doesn't have many stories to tell, himself, with how busy Yifan has been in court, so he mostly listens, here and there meeting new toys that his brothers already know well.

He's almost dozed off against Zitao's warm chest when he feels something tickling his neck, and he jerks away in surprise. Zitao and Lu Han both look up at the same time, and they both relax much sooner than Yixing, who stares hard at the toy who was touching him. The toy smiles broadly and shamelessly, squeezing into the space between Minseok and Zitao.

"I recognize that collar," the toy says, as though Yixing should be proud of it.

He stares on blankly, fighting to keep an ugly look from surfacing on his features. Unhindered, the toy continues. "I was a close friend to both of the toys that used to wear it."

Zitao snorts. "I'm sure Kyungsoo would not agree with you."

The toy waves dismissively, smiling on at Yixing as though waiting for him to speak. Lu Han leans forward so that Yixing can see him and makes the introduction, already knowing that Yixing will not ask for it. "This is Baekhyun, of _Hou_ Kim Taeyeon. The worst toy you will ever meet."

Baekhyun frowns, whining a weak, " _Hey_ ," but he doesn't look truly upset or apologetic. Yixing watches coldly, not swayed by his loud charm. To his credit, Baekhyun seems either smarter or kinder than Yixing first assumed, and he does not bring the collar up again.

In fact, Yixing has a very difficult time disliking him. He takes a quick liking to Yixing, draping close to him as often as Zitao will allow. He makes Yixing laugh so fully and wholeheartedly that he's almost disappointed to see Yifan come to fetch him so soon. He rises to greet his master, cheeks still taut in a smile, and Yifan smiles down at him in return, stroking his cheek.

"The Emperor has a favor to ask of you," he says, smoothing out the creases in Yixing's jacket. The toys around them coo and hum with curiosity, leaning forward, and Yixing flushes. "He's heard of your talents and wishes for a performance. Come, and bring your brothers," Yifan says, stepping away to push back through the crowd.

Yixing glances back towards Zitao and Lu Han, both of whom are already standing. They follow Yifan, Lu Han whispering into Yixing's ear the entire time about how handsome his master is. Yixing smiles proudly, smitten, ignoring the knowing look on Lu Han's face. The crowd parts for them as they approach the Dragon Throne. Yifan approaches first and bows formally, and then the three brothers follow in perfect synchronization. The crowd behind them mumbles with approval and interest.

"Three brothers, fair as spring," the Emperor addresses them. The brothers bow again, touching their foreheads to the ground. "The city has been aflame with stories of your beauty, your talents, and your grace. Seeing you here tonight, I am assured of your beauty and your grace. If you would, I wish for a demonstration of your talents." He gestures for the brothers to rise and indicates towards two servants, one carrying a flute, and the other carrying a pair of fans.

The servants clear a space of floor for them. Lu Han instructs Zitao and Yixing in their arrangement, sitting Yixing to the side and Zitao to the front. Lu Han settles himself on his knees beside Yixing, humming the first note. Yixing waits for Zitao to position himself with his fans before starting.

First, it is only Yixing and his flute. His lips full around the reed of the gourd, his fingers small and delicate around its three bamboo pipes. The sound is mellow, the melody ambling, a traditional love song from the village of Lu Han's birth. Yixing has played it many times since coming to the pleasure house that raised him, as it is one of Lu Han's favorites.

Then, it is Lu Han's voice over the pure tones of the _hulusi_. He sings the melody, his eyes lowered, his hands in his lap. The words are familiar, the story of a poor farmer's daughter and the soldier who falls in love with her. Lu Han has sung it many times before, the only remnant of his birth home. He came to the pleasure house without coin or shoes or food. His dirty clothes were burned as soon as he was brought into the house. All he was left with were the songs his mother taught him.

Last, it is Zitao, his bangles tittering as he dances. His limbs are long and graceful, his movements precise and powerful. The youngest of the three, he spent many an evening listening to his brothers' music, discovering how his body could become the final accompaniment. His fans twist in the air, vividly colored, painting the song that echoes in the great hall.

The hall is silent during their performance. Yixing keeps his eyes lowered as a formality, remembering the performances in his youth where he was allowed to interact gratuitously with his audience. Here, in the Emperor's presence, the three brothers are as proper as paid entertainers, their faces cool masks. Even Zitao doesn't stray from their given floor space, never letting his gaze linger on one guest over another.

Zitao finishes first with a flourish, tossing the fans aside before catapulting himself into a complex flip. He lands lightly, kneeling down in a backbend so deep that the tip of his head brushes his heels and staring at the crowd upside-down. He holds this position.

Next is Lu Han, whose voice has risen with passion. His face is no longer impassive, his eyes closed and his mouth twisted with emotion. His hands still sit in his lap, clenched into fists. He quiets suddenly, voice barely audible in the greatness of the room, and he finishes in a minor key. Tears are gathering in the corners of his eyes.

Last is Yixing, who carries the melody for another full count before letting it drift away in the same key, lowering the flute to his lap when he has finished. Zitao rises out of his backbend and kneels beside his brothers, their heads bowed respectfully. The crowd is no longer silent, instead murmuring excitedly, and all eyes are on the Emperor, waiting.

He rises from his throne, first addressing the men who own the three brothers. "I congratulate you three, for you are the luckiest men in the capital, to have these toys in your homes." He addresses the brothers next. "I am certain that there is not a single soul in this entire room unmoved by your song. For such feeling to come from a simple country ballad, you three truly have a gift of performance."

The three brothers bow once more, touching their heads to the floor, before being escorted back to their masters by the two servants. Lu Han's master squeezes his shoulder, his smile broad. He teases Lu Han, telling him that his voice is almost as good as his master's. Junmyeon ruffles Zitao's hair and promises him another jeweled ring for his beautiful dancing tonight.

Yifan doesn't say anything. He pulls Yixing close, kissing him on both cheeks before lowering a kiss to his lips. Yixing submits to it when he would rather deepen it, demand more of it. Instead, he puts on the show of a good toy for any spectators. Yifan continues to smooth a hand up and down his back when they break the kiss, smiling down at Yixing in a way that has his stomach twisting. He flushes, feeling exposed by Yifan's gaze. 

"You were magnificent," Yifan finally says, pulling Yixing close again in a loving embrace. Yixing tucks his head beneath Yifan's chin, nuzzling close, quivering from the excitement of his master's praise. “And the Emperor is right. I must be favored by the gods to have you by my side.”

Yixing swallows, looking up into his master’s eyes when he says, “Do not give such credit to the gods, master, for it is my favor that keeps me beside you. I would not choose any other man’s bed over yours.”

Yifan cups Yixing’s cheek, stroking his thumb across it. His gaze is focused and dark, not straying as he stares Yixing down. Yixing’s stomach twists nervously when his master says, “I know.” Yixing breaks their stare first, lowering his eyes and tucking himself against his master’s chest.

"Can we sit?" he asks, wishing to prolong this time spent in his master's arms. Yifan assents and leads their way through the crowd, their progress slow as guests of the Emperor stop them and commend Yifan on his toy's incredible performance. They have almost come to a sitting space when a man takes Yifan by the arm, pulling him to the side.

"Yifan!" he laughs. "My, my, when I heard about how much you spent on this toy, I thought, _he has gone insane_! Leave it to you to know exactly the value of a good toy!"

Yifan smiles, but tightly. "Hou Lee. Thank you."

"Oh, he is a very pretty thing," Hou Lee says, reaching out past Yifan to caress Yixing's cheek. The touch is presumptuous, too intimate for a man whose name Yixing has never even heard before, but despite his revulsion, he remains still, knowing that it is rude to reject the touch of any man who praises him. He plays the part of the good toy, head bowed, eyes on the ground, letting the man's zealous fingers trace his jaw, and he could almost cry out in relief when Yifan takes him by the arm and pulls him close, out of the man's grasp. Yixing curls immediately towards Yifan's chest, hiding himself there, and he can hear the man chuckle. He closes his eyes, not wanting to see that nauseating grin again.

"Excuse me, but I'm not very fond of others touching what is mine," Yifan says, quieting the man's laughter.

"Oh," Hou Lee says, "my, my, Zhangzi. I don't remember you having this possessive streak when you owned Chanyeol or Kyungsoo. Yes, this is new, isn't it."

Yixing bristles in Yifan's grip. Yifan squeezes him closer, and he tries to calm down. He's already wearing Kyungsoo's collar. He's sick of thinking about his master's old toys. Yifan is leaning back, pulling Yixing with him, and it's clear to Yixing that he's trying to get away. It must not be as clear to Hou Lee, who continues.

"That's fine. I was always selfish with my favorites, as well. I guess I'll just have to wait for you to put him up for sale. He's so pretty; even used, I'm sure he'll take a good weight out of my purse."

Yixing squeezes his eyes shut, his shoulders beginning to tremble with the strain of holding his displeasure in; his stomach turns, that this is who will be bidding on him in just a few years when Yifan tires of his company. Yifan's grip on him has tightened almost painfully, but when Yifan clears his throat, speaking over Yixing's head to Hou Lee, his words are even. "It has been wonderful seeing you," he says with a tone of voice that implies that it hasn't been wonderful at all, "but I think Yixing is in need of a bit of fresh air. If you don't mind."

"Yes, I'm sure he is," Hou Lee says. Yifan turns away, shielding Yixing with his broad chest, but Hou Lee claps a hand down onto Yifan's shoulder, startling Yixing out of his master's grasp. "A word of advice, Zhangzi. You are still a young man after all." Hou Lee nods toward Yixing, his expression hardening. As though appraising a piece of property. "He is beautiful, and I'm sure he's very useful in your bedroom, but spoiling him—no, don't deny it, it is obvious that you do—it doesn't help anybody. It doesn't help you, and it certainly won't help him when it comes time for him to find a new owner. You can't trick him into believing he's your companion. That game always ends somewhere, and it's never pretty, especially for playthings like him. Toys aren't lovers, Zhangzi."

It seems like Hou Lee has more to say, but Yifan doesn't let him say it. He wraps an arm around Yixing's waist and drags him away, cutting through the crowd towards the front hall. Yixing stumbles to keep up, his shorter legs having to jog every once in awhile to keep from tripping. "We're leaving," Yifan says when Yixing tries to ask him where they're going.

"My brothers—"

"Write them in the morning. Apologize. Invite them to visit at the estate. I will not spend one more minute in the same room—"

"Please," Yixing gasps, wrenching himself free of Yifan's grip. Yifan whirls around, staring Yixing down with a furious glare. Yixing recoils, trying to make himself small, and he thinks about Hou Lee's advice. How unfortunate it would be for him if Yifan only just now realized how much leash Yixing has been given. "Let me say goodbye," he begs, taking a hesitant step forward into Yifan's space. He would kneel before him if he thought his knees would support him. Instead, he presses a kiss to the apple of Yifan's throat, hands trembling when he rests them against Yifan's chest. Yifan is silent for too long, Yixing starting to pull away when he finally reaches up to hold Yixing close.

"Go," he says, pressing a rough kiss to the crown of Yixing's head. "Be quick. I'm going to fetch the car." He backs away as though to leave, but he hesitates and says, "We're going to talk when we get home." With that, he turns, striding out of the room with a renewed vigor, and Yixing watches him go, his stomach sinking with every step that divides them.

He doesn't so much find his brothers as much as he stumbles into them. Zitao is the one who asks him what's wrong, which rips Lu Han's attention away from Minseok. Yixing flushes and tries to resist the swell of tears in his eyes; he's ashamed, but he's also scared. When he doesn't answer, Zitao hugs him, his body warm and solid beneath his robes. Lu Han holds him from behind, and Minseok places a hand on his shoulder. Lu Han and Zitao share an inquisitive look over his shoulder, and though Yixing has not said anything, they know him well.

"You'll be okay," Lu Han says when Yixing pulls away from them. "You have a good master."

Yixing manages a small smile, thanking them before he departs. Yifan is waiting for him outside, and the ride home is silent. Yixing spends the entirety of it forcing himself to breathe steadily; it's the only thing that keeps him from crumbling. When they reach home, Yifan leads the way back to his bedroom, and he's tearing his tie off the moment they enter. As soon as Yixing figures out how to kneel in his suit, he does, assuming his position beside the door. Yifan casts him a cursory glance before continuing his manic disrobing.

"Rise," he says with no give in his voice. Yixing does, quickly, staring down at the floor. He's shaking, and he hopes Yifan isn't looking at him. "Sit on the bed."

In his trepidation, he hesitates, almost speaking up to ask Yifan how he wants him to sit, but Yifan snaps out an impatient, " _Now_ ," and Yixing perches himself on its edge, his legs dangling over the side. Yifan continues to undress in a flurry until he's barefoot and jacket-less, his sleeves rolled up and the first few buttons of his shirt undone. He looks tired like this. Yixing doesn't look up any higher, doesn't dare to look into his face, and when Yifan drops down beside him, he cringes away. If Yifan notices, he doesn't say anything.

"That was unacceptable," he says at long last. His voice is drained, like his anger has exhausted him. Yixing bites his lip as a tear streaks its way down his face, dripping into his lap. "Anybody could have seen you disobey me like that."

A pause follows, and Yixing takes the opportunity to say, "Please, forgive me." Yifan doesn't respond. Instead, he continues.

"I don't expect anybody to understand how I handle you in here. In my home. That's none of their concern." Yixing swallows thickly, nodding. "But when you do something like that in public, where all of them can see, it doesn't reflect poorly on you. It reflects poorly on me." Yixing opens his mouth to say something, to stop Yifan from talking because he doesn't know how much longer he can silently listen. Yifan talks over him. "And if people think I can't control you, then men like Hou Lee begin to think that you would be better suited in somebody else's bed."

Yixing holds his breath. He feels weak, dizzy. He can taste bile in the back of his throat. He's never been so scared in his life. He wishes that Yifan had taken immediately to beating him, because now he wonders if maybe his punishment won't be worse. There are always the auction houses. Yixing takes a sharp, sobbing breath and unclenches his fists where he's curled them in his trousers, and all of the sudden, Yifan seems to realize that he's crying.

He pulls Yixing close, tucking him against his chest, and Yixing trembles with the force of holding in his dread. Yifan shushes him, smoothing a hand down his back and reaching with his free hand to tangle their fingers together. It takes a moment, but he calms and quiets enough for Yifan to pull away, cleaning tear tracks from his face with a gentle swipe of his thumb.

Yixing chokes out an apology, and Yifan turns his eyes away, looking like he wishes he didn't have to remember that Yixing is in trouble. That hurts worse than anything. "Please," Yixing says hoarsely. "D-don't," he stutters, "just don't make me bleed."

"Yixing. _Yixing_ ," Yifan repeats himself when Yixing doesn't immediately look at him. "Stop crying. I'm not going to hit you. That's not how I give punishments." He squeezes Yixing's hand, a frown still etched deeply into his face, but at least the rage there has died. "Go to your room. You're going to sleep there for a few nights."

It is simultaneously better and worse than Yixing imagined it would have been. He nods obediently, rising and bowing before crossing to exit Yifan's room. He hesitates at the door, wanting Yifan to tell him good night, he'll be in to see him later, but Yifan doesn't say anything. Yixing slips into the hallway quickly, then, embarrassed that he thought he might still get the privileges of a prized toy while he's being punished.

It's only when he gets into his room and begins to undress that he realizes he's still wearing Kyungsoo's collar. In his frustration, he tears it from his throat, the buckle scraping his skin as he yanks it open, and he throws it across the room as hard as he can. A sob claws its way out of his throat, wailing and wretched and raw, and he collapses to the floor in his grief. He's _never_ been in trouble before. Of course, he's been punished, caned on his knuckles and thighs whenever he didn't advance in his training fast enough, but he's never once directly defied even a mere patron before now.

His room feels large and empty when he knows that Yifan is only a few doors down, sleeping away from him. Tonight was supposed to be a good night, the first night of Yifan's liberty before returning to his duties in the Emperor's cabinet. Yixing's outburst is tiring, and when he has burnt through all of the energy required to continue wallowing, he finds himself dozing on the floor. He knows that he will be embarrassed in the morning if he is found here, but he can't even draw up the motivation to move.

Yixing at least wakes before anybody can see him like this. Unfortunately, it's in a sticky puddle, and in the darkness, he thinks that it might be his tears. He lifts his head and realizes that whatever it is has dried and crusted wetly on his face, and he lifts his fingers to touch it. He swears into the darkness, too loudly, eyes only just adjusting enough to see the darkness of the smear on his fingertips. He pats his neck, looking for the cut, and it's messy, feeling like it's only just recently stopped bleeding. He looks down at the puddle on the floor, much smaller than it felt when he was laying in it, but still a substantial spot. His eyes well again; he's probably ruined the hardwood.

It's with a resigned helplessness that he raises from the floor, fumbles to dress himself, and stumbles his way into the washroom. He runs the water in the tub, just enough to wash his face off as best he can, and then he douses a towel and takes it over to the mess in the bedroom. He wipes at it for a moment before growing weary and just dropping the towel on top of the mess. He sits back, staring at the white lump in the darkness, streaked with his blood. He stares until it offends him, and he stumbles up towards his door, a brash impulsivity driving him out into the hallway, as far away from his mess as he can get.

He goes without knowing where he's going, passing through rambling hallways and great atriums while hardly even lifting his gaze to admire them. He goes until he reaches a dead end; a hallway that opens on either side into ballrooms, and terminates in a large window that rises from the floor to the ceiling. Through it, Yixing can see the first discoloring of sunrise in the horizon. He approaches it and takes a seat in the corner, resting his cheek against the cool glass. He falls asleep before he can work up the energy to move himself.

 

Yixing wakes when someone pulls on him, toppling him over. In his drowsing state, he tumbles easily, sprawling across the floor. He looks up and finds Xin frowning down at him, the attendant's pretty face pinched with disapproval. Yixing gathers himself and bows silently at her feet, but Xin drags him up by his hair before he can finish.

"Do you have any idea how worried duizhang was? He thought you'd run away. And what—?" Xin pushes his head to the side, fingers pulling taut the dirty scratch on his neck. "What did you _do_?"

Yixing bites his tongue, considering it wiser to keep silent, and Xin realizes it. She grabs him by the back of his neck, forcefully leading him through the halls until they become familiar again. Yixing realizes that he's being brought back to his room, or perhaps straight to Yifan. In the end, it's the same place. Yifan is waiting for him at his own desk, his head in his hands. Yixing's stomach twists in his guilt.

"Master," he says quietly, and Yifan looks up. The cloudy expression on his face smoothens before shuttering off altogether. His eyes search Yixing before coming to rest at his neck, and Yixing nervously reaches up to cover the cut. When he drops his gaze, he sees the towel and the mess he left last night, and he realizes what sort of terrible things Yifan might have imagined. "I am sorry to have troubled you."

Yifan sighs, standing. "Xin, thank you for finding him. You are dismissed." Yixing relaxes when she leaves, but he doesn't look up. Yifan crosses the room and takes him by the shoulder, gently leading him to sit on the bed. He retrieves a fresh wet towel and offers it to Yixing, who blindly cleans whatever parts of him still feel crusted and dry. When he's done, Yifan cleans whatever he's missed.

"So you have taken to wandering in the night?"

"Forgive me, master."

Yifan sighs, tossing the dirtied towel towards its companion on the floor before taking a seat beside Yixing. "I thought something terrible had happened to you. It was only a small bit of blood, but to see it, I thought…"

"Master, I'm sorry," Yixing pleads, closing his hands into fists.

"Let me finish, Yixing," Yifan says, sending him a scolding glance. Yixing shrivels under its weight. "This is my fault. I suppose I was not explicit with you. Before, I would not have cared if you took to sleeping in your bed or a hallway or the roof, if you found it comfortable. But that is not a freedom you have right now." Yixing nods, a numb sort of sadness washing through him. "These next few nights, when I tell you to return to your room, I would like for you to return to this room and remain here until sunrise, at which point you are at liberty to move about the estate freely once more. If I do not see you in the evening, you are to be in this room by sunset. Is this clear?"

"Yes, master."

"Good. Now tell me what happened to your neck."

Yixing flushes at the memory, stumbling immediately over his words. He doesn't want to tell Yifan about his tantrum, how it is the fault of his own recklessness, nor does he want to reveal the disrespect he showed the collar his master gave him. "I didn't—I mean, it wasn't very—it was an accident, when—"

"Yixing, please."

"The buckle," Yixing manages. "It caught, when I…" He glances at where he threw the collar, noting that it is still lying on the floor, and then quickly looks away.

Yifan frowns, following his gaze, and then sighs heavily. "Oh." He reaches his hand out, carding his fingers through Yixing's hair, and he pulls Yixing close until they are resting against one another. "What am I going to do with you?" he asks quietly, and Yixing knows that he's not waiting for an answer. He closes his eyes and tries not to feel hurt by it, intending rather to make the most of this closeness while Yifan is willing to give it.

Yifan puts him to bed and leaves him there, drawing the curtains closed and telling him to sleep, since it is obvious that he did not during the night. Yixing thinks that he won't be able to, tossing and turning beneath the heavy covers until he proves himself wrong. He wakes just as the sun is setting, and it both surprises and saddens him. He has not been summoned before sunset. He will be trapped in this room until the sun rises again. He turns over, burying his face into his pillow and moaning sorrowfully. He's startled by the opening and closing of his door.

Yixing lifts his head to look, but whoever it was has already left. Yixing's face crumples and he retreats into his bedcovers, hiding himself in them. His breath is hot and humid, trapped beneath the heavy coverings. The longer he hides, the harder it becomes to breathe. He's almost ready to come out, push the covers back and respire indulgently, when his door opens again. He freezes, now holding his breath. A moment later, Yifan speaks.

"Qing told me you were awake," he says from the door. Yixing pushes the blankets away, feeling like a child caught playing, and he mumbles,

"I am, master."

Yifan's face creases, tension drawing him tight, but he nods. "Follow me," he says, and he doesn't wait for Yixing to get out of bed before turning on his heel and exiting. Yixing has to scramble to keep up, his limbs still fresh from sleep. He stumbles into the hall just in time to see Yifan disappear into his own room, and Yixing enters behind him, head bowed respectfully.

"Undress," Yifan says from somewhere further away. Yixing does. He leaves the robe at his feet, waiting for further instruction. Yifan gives it to him a moment later. "Get on the bed. On your front, legs spread."

Yixing obeys, not once lifting his gaze to catch a glimpse of his master as he does. The bedcovers are smooth against him, smelling familiar in a way that he's missed in the short time he's been parted from them. He spreads his legs and lifts his hips, unsure of where Yifan is until a dribble of oil spatters down his exposed entrance. Yifan sets the decanter up onto the bedside table, plunging two fingers in messily when he's returned.

Yixing twists, grabbing onto the comforter to ground himself. Yifan turns his hand, the pads of his fingers dragging along Yixing's walls, stroking him in a ruthless, experienced way. Yixing bites down on the blanket beneath him and rocks back against his master's hand. Yifan puts his palm down on Yixing's back to hold him still, and Yixing whimpers but obeys.

Yifan slides a third finger in for only a suggestion of a moment before withdrawing completely. Yixing desperately wants to turn his head to see what his master is doing, what he's wearing, if he looks as affected as Yixing feels. He bites down harder around the covers to keep from giving in.

Nor does Yifan leave him waiting long enough to let him crumble to his desires. Only a moment after he hears the sound of Yifan's clothes hitting the floor, Yifan is pushing into him, hauling his hips up until his knees bear his weight and then shoving in completely with gravity. Yixing cries out, stretched too quickly, used too roughly, and he almost does not recognize Yifan's hands on his back soothing him, stroking him, digging circles into the tense muscles there. Yifan waits for him to adjust. Yixing pushes back against him before he's ready in hopes of winning his master's favor.

Yifan sets a punishing pace. Yixing's head swims with it, his entire body feeling like it has been licked by flames. He curls away from Yifan's thrusts but only succeeds in taking him deeper. Yifan groans and leans forward, his angle changing just enough to jar Yixing, who releases the bedcovers from between his teeth with a cry.

" _Zhangzi_ ," he gasps, writhing against the sheets.

"Don't call me Zhangzi," Yifan commands in time with his thrusts.

"Master," Yixing says instead. Yifan takes him by the hair, wrenching him up, and Yixing cries out. Lips pressed against his ear, Yifan growls,

"My name, Yixing. Say my name."

He does, and Yifan's thrusts become almost violent in their ferocity. Yixing's knees burn as they dig into the sheets, and his back arches almost painfully to hold the position that Yifan has put him in. His body is twisted and brutalized and he has never been harder in his life than he is right now, the cruelty of their coupling feeling something like forgiveness. He repeats Yifan's name over and over until it slurs on his tongue, losing its meaning, and Yifan comes in him, thrusting so hard that Yixing topples over.

Yixing reaches down to jerk himself, his fist tight and his pace frantic, but Yifan tears his hand away by the wrist, pinning it to the sheets. Yixing whines and squirms, riled beyond coherency, and Yifan's voice is the crunch of dirt and gravel in his ear when he says, "Do you want to come?" Yixing just sobs, grinding back against his master's softening cock in the hopes that Yifan will understand that yes, yes he would love to come, he needs to come, if he doesn't, he thinks he might _burst_. "Only good toys get to come."

Oh. _Oh_. Yixing whimpers, tears welling up in his eyes that this could be part of his punishment. That Yifan would leave him like this because Yixing embarrassed him. That Yifan would leave him like this at all. More than anything, that he will be left with this urgency, this need all night, at the mercy of his desire until Yifan permits him to finish. He cries, his chest heaving with it, and Yifan mouths at the tracks left by his tears. Hot, open-mouthed kisses against his cheek and neck. He grinds his hips, too soft to give Yixing any substantial pleasure. Instead, it's just a tease. Something else to keep him on edge.

"Beg for it," Yifan commands, and Yixing tries. His throat is raw and he isn't sure if he's speaking one language or three, but he tries. Yifan strokes his stomach, fingers so close to his cock but expertly avoiding it. He doesn't dare roll his hips any closer, doesn't dare do anything but obey and beseech, waiting for his master's mercy.

Yifan gives it to him. He squeezes Yixing's cock almost too tight, but it's enough. "Come," he snarls, as though it pains him to let Yixing have this, but he takes it before his master can change his mind. His body bows, so overwhelmed that he's numb with it, and he falls back to the sheets oversensitive and uncomfortable. He turns to seek out Yifan's grasp, but it's not there. Yifan is sitting up, already a ways away from him, and Yixing rises as much as he can manage to look at him.

"Can you walk?" Yifan asks without looking over.

Yixing's legs are still trembling. He cannot feel his toes. He shakes his head, and Yifan must assume the nature of his response because he still doesn't look at him at all. Attention still averted, he says,

"When you can, clean yourself off. Then return to your room."

The words fall on Yixing like a weight, knocking the breath out of him. He lowers his eyes and clears his expression, not daring to let Yifan know that he's hurt. At least now the pain of his punishment has deadened enough this doesn't feel like a fresh blow, but more like prodding at an old wound. He stands sooner than he probably should, his gait unsteady as he makes his way into the washroom, and he works quickly and efficiently. He refuses to draw out his time unwelcome in this room, for each passing minute wears him down like a grindstone. He is raw and sensitive when he returns to the main bedroom, the lights already doused and Yifan curled on his side. Yixing doesn't stop walking until he's reached his own room, and he stands at the side of his bed for a long time before taking to the couch instead. He doesn't know why it makes him feel better, but it does.

He doesn't see Yifan in the morning, choosing to sequester himself in his room until he is fetched, and he isn't fetched until late in the afternoon. It's a trial to drag himself from his sofa, barely dressed to make an appearance even in his master's bedchambers, but he does. If Yifan notices Yixing's sorry state, he does a good job of not showing his dissatisfaction. The distance between them festers. Where only days ago Yixing had felt comfortable playfully smarting off to his master in front of the household servants, now he feels wrong footed, too unsure to even meet Yifan's eyes.

Yifan is studying when Yixing enters his room, documents spread across his desk. He's sprawled, embedded in the clutter, and Yixing doubts that he has been summoned to draw him out. Sure enough, Yifan gestures towards the couch, and Yixing takes a seat.

"You are going to spend tonight at the palace. With your brothers."

Yixing stares at the floor, and after a long silence, he looks up impulsively. Yifan is watching him. Embarrassed, he bows his head and thanks his master, but it doesn't seem like that was what Yifan was waiting for. Yifan sighs and pushes away from his desk, and Yixing steels himself against the desire to flinch away.

"Xin will escort you. She will oversee your stay." Yixing continues to sit in silence, waiting for another command. Yifan's patience is dwindling, and Yixing can't pinpoint why. He sits stiller, straighter, breathes quieter, holds himself in a smaller space. Yifan's mouth twists in a scowl. "You are dismissed. Go prepare."

Yixing bows deeply and escapes to the door with the most haste that is appropriate. He dresses quickly, almost carelessly, choosing bright robes that are simple in their elegance in the hopes that his disheveled hair and reddened eyes will not be so remarkable. Qing comes by and packs him a small sack of lounge clothes, and Yixing distantly wonders how long his stay will truly last. He doesn't ask her, though. She tries to tidy his curls and presses a cold, wet rag to his eyes, but when he looks in the mirror, he doesn't think he looks any better than when she started.

Qing only leaves when Xin and Yifan enter. Yifan retrieves Kyungsoo's collar from where it was cast days ago and approaches Yixing, who bristles at the sight of it. Yifan holds his head steady, pinning him with a hard look, and he buckles the collar around his neck while Yixing hardly dares to breathe. "You will not take this off for the duration of your stay. Xin will bring you home immediately if you do. Do you understand?"

"Yes, master."

Xin carries his bag out of the room and Yifan ushers Yixing to follow her without a formal parting. Yixing looks over his shoulder at him as he's pushed towards the door, but Yifan doesn't even kiss him. He rushes to catch up with Xin, biting his tongue to keep his tears at bay. Xin, thankfully, takes no notice of him for the entire duration of their trip.

 

Zitao and Junmyeon meet him in the entrance hall. He stands there by Xin's side, his eyes fixed on the floor until his brother takes the bag from Xin's hands and his brother's master leads him by the arm deeper into the palace. Junmyeon leaves them at their suite, and Zitao wraps his arms around Yixing before leading him inside.

"What happened?" Lu Han asks as soon as he sees them. Lu Han's brow is furrowed with concern, and Yixing almost feels shame over his poor appearance. In the end, all he feels is exhaustion.

By way of greeting, he closes his eyes and falls into his elder brother's embrace. Lu Han accepts him and lowers them down to the floor, stroking his hair. Yixing curls into him comfortably. He misses his master, he misses his comforts, but his brother's heartbeat in his ear is a long-time solace. Yixing spent many nights in his youth tucked into Lu Han's arms, praying that tomorrow would bring him better fortune. Lu Han's arms are a sacred space. His breathing evens, settling, and when he feels able, he rises, helping Lu Han to his feet and over to an array of cushions where the other toys lounge.

Zitao lays him down and pulls at his robes when they get there, his fingers moving deftly over Yixing's flesh. Yixing allows this for a short while before realizing what Zitao is looking for. He pulls Yixing's robes away to inspect his arms and legs, and then rolls him into his front to search his back. Yixing bats him away pushes himself up, meeting Zitao's eyes over his shoulder.

"He didn't hit me," he says.

"What explanation do you have for that?" Lu Han asks, crouched beside him. He has pushed Kyungsoo's collar down just enough to see the scratch, and Yixing flushes with embarrassment.

He lowers his eyes before answering. "My own carelessness. I cut myself removing this collar two nights before last."

"Is that why you're so cold?"

Yixing smiles and turns his head. "No, Taozi, I'm fine. It did not bleed very much at all."

His brothers' eyes are careful, and he knows that they don't believe him, but they press their lips together and let his collar fall back into place. Some of the other toys present watch on with fierce attention, something Yixing has not suffered since the time after his exhibition at his pleasure house. His heart aches for those days, when he pleased many men and cared for none of them. Now, having displeased one man he cares for more than anything, he thinks that he very much so deserves the fate of the toys who bore this collar before him, wherever it is they have found themselves.

A tear grows at the corner of his eye, and Zitao catches it before it can fall. When Yixing looks up at him, his brother's face is sad. "You are certain he did not hurt you?"

"He…," Yixing starts, sniffling, "sent me to my room."

Zitao watches him for a moment longer before realizing that Yixing has nothing more to say. "Oh," he says shortly, eyebrows rising. "And then what?"

Yixing is confused, both by Zitao's lack of understanding as well as his own. His stomach squeezes with shame every time he thinks about his master turning him out for the night, although it's not his place, as a toy, to demand allowance in his master's bed at all. Except that he had thought his master didn't keep him as other masters kept their toys. He had felt so… _loved_.

Yixing's eyes widen and his mouth drops open and he looks up at Zitao in shock. Lu Han, over his shoulder, bristles, chin lifting and shoulders squaring as though for a fight. Yixing has no fight to give them. His punishment is so fitting for a toy such as himself. He should have known, he should have seen it happening. _I let this happen_ , he thinks, _I let myself fall in love_.

His shame colors with disgrace, and he lowers himself back down into the cushions, ignoring his brothers' questions. He doesn't know what they would think of him if he told them that he had fallen in love with his master. Toys don't fall in love. In the pleasure house, it was so simple. The cane never had to teach him that toys are empty, without attachments; merely vessels of pleasure, sweet playthings, vacant holes waiting to be filled. _Love_ , he thinks bitterly. _A toy has fallen in love with a man_.

Yixing eats poorly after that. He hardly moves. His brothers push and pull at him for the first night, convinced that his misery is just a transient thing. Only after the first night, when he sleeps well into the afternoon, do they let him alone. He is glad for it. Baekhyun searches for his smile, curling up beside him for several hours, but Yixing knows that his exhaustion is catching.

"The foreigners are here," Zitao tells him when he wakes up in the early morning on the third day, early enough that all the other toys are sleeping and the sky beyond the drawn curtains is dark. Yixing squints into his brother's face, rising just for a moment, disoriented. It is an unusual time to be awake, and he is only here because his body can sleep no longer.

"Zitao?" he mumbles, moving slowly because his limbs are so heavy. Zitao sits up with him, pulling his robe up onto his shoulder from where it had fallen.

"Will your master be here for the mediation?" Zitao asks him.

Yixing lowers his eyes and shakes his head silently. He lolls his head to the side, his entire body lazy and thick. He longs for the cushions beneath him, praying that sleep will let him leave this life he's in for a few hours longer. Zitao looks tired as well; Yixing wonders how long he's been awake. He opens his arms, and his brother crawls close, curling into his chest. Yixing holds him weakly, struggling to keep his eyes open. It's a losing battle. Zitao still hasn't fallen asleep by the time he does.

Lu Han and Minseok's owner is poking his head in the next time Yixing wakes up. He stays awake this time, the light of the day too strong against his drawn lids. He sits up, glancing around at the mostly empty room. There are only a few toys left sitting around, and then his brother at the door. Lu Han and his master speak in hushed voices, Minseok mostly listening. Yixing can hear short bits of words, and though he realizes they're discussing the mediation, he can't understand what they're saying. Zitao wraps around him from behind, and he sinks back into his brother's arms.

"You've been sleeping too much these past few days," he whispers into Yixing's ear.

"I'm sorry," Yixing says.

"You would tell me if there was something upsetting you, wouldn't you?"

Yixing turns his head to look at Zitao, who is watching him with a perceptive look. He lowers his eyes and says, "Some things are too profane to make mention of."

"Even amongst brothers?"

Lu Han has returned to their side, Minseok in tow, and Yixing silently nods. Zitao hums mournfully, playing with the fabric of his robes. Lu Han tangles his fingers with Minseok's, speaking lowly in a language that Yixing doesn't understand. Zitao makes some translations here and there where he deems it appropriate, but Yixing is no longer listening. His thoughts are with Yifan; what he's doing, how he's sleeping, what he's eating, if he's even thinking about Yixing. The longer he stays here at the palace, even amongst his brothers, the more he thinks that this must be exile.

Xin's presence bolsters this notion. She watches him like a warden, occasionally bringing him food and clean robes when she sees that he does not fetch his own. With these errands, she also brings him sharp words. She calls him lazy, spoiled, the weak toy of a strong man. These insults Yixing can weather. His own brothers' voices have become an indistinguishable hum in his ears; hers holds even less residence amongst his concerns.

No, it's the look of pity she gives him whenever she has to spoon soup into his mouth or change his robes for him because he has lost the will to do so himself. There is no point in eating if his master is not there to see his flesh. There is no point in dressing when his master is not there to admire and undress him. Xin tries to goad him into action in her waspish, distanced way, telling him, "Duizhang will be upset when he sees you like this," as she runs her fingers through his dirty hair. Lu Han had taken him along to bathe, but that was several days before.

"Zhangzi is already upset with me," he replies miserably, letting her continue to right his appearance.

She narrows her eyes at him, leaving him alone on the cushions just the way he is. His brothers are both out. He isn't familiar with the few toys left lounging around him, and he lies for a long while without moving but also without sleeping. It's the longest he's been awake in a few days, and he isn't quite sure what to do with himself. He's almost worked himself up to rousing and perhaps finding his own food when Baekhyun settles beside him.

"You're still here," he says.

"I was about to get up," Yixing tells him, though Baekhyun has no reason to believe him.

Baekhyun just hums, smiling at him. "Have I told you about my mistress?" Yixing lifts his head, shaking it. Baekhyun has mentioned Hou Kim, but Yixing knows very little about her. "She bought me only a handful of months after my exhibition, several years ago now. She is a kind mistress, but she is also a very stern mistress." Baekhyun stretches out leisurely, his lips curling with delight. "We have a game. Or, I suppose, _I_ have a game. How far out of line am I allowed step before she drags me back in. Do you want to know how far I ever went?"

Yixing leans forward, resting his head on Baekhyun's shoulder. "How far?"

Baekhyun lowers his eyes respectfully, his smile faltering for only a moment. "I fell in love with her."

Yixing's stomach drops. He wants to push away, but he finds himself unable to move. Baekhyun reaches up to stroke his hair, holding him close. "I was scared, just as you are. I thought, are we not supposed to have this trained out of us? I was beat many times in my training, for many different reasons, but never because I was so dull as to believe a toy could freely love its master."

Yixing's breathing has quickened. His eyes are stinging with tears. Baekhyun wipes one as it gathers at the corner. "It took me a very long time to tell her. I was certain that I would be sold to a lesser family, perhaps a cruel one, just as a lesson. When I did tell her, the only lesson she taught me was one about withholding my thoughts and feelings from her. She kept me, and I believe she has learned to love me the way I love her."

Baekhyun rolls Yixing onto his back, nosing at his collar. He slides their fingers together, and Yixing quiets. He swallows thickly. His distress, though present, is no longer urgent. Baekhyun continues. "The toys of rich owners need not fear their masters' treatment like the toys of commoners do. I have seen how Zhangzi treats you. I believe that it will not take him long to learn to feel for you what you feel for him."

"Yah, Baekhyun," Lu Han scolds as he enters the room. Minseok crosses behind him. "You talk too much. Are you bothering our Xing-di?"

Baekhyun rolls away, onto his side, and Yixing can hear the smile in his voice when he says, "I thought maybe if I annoyed him enough, he would want to get up to escape."

Yixing smiles—actually smiles, and Lu Han's delight with it is breathtaking. "Ge," he tells his brother, "I think I want to bathe today. Have you…?"

"I will bathe with you," Lu Han readily agrees, pressing a brief kiss to Minseok's cheek before turning out of the room to fetch a servant to draw their bath. When he returns, he lays with Yixing, pushing Baekhyun's hands away when they roam too freely, and when the bath is ready, Lu Han supports his brother on the entire walk to the tub. He lowers Yixing in, and Yixing pulls on his wrists until Lu Han joins him.

"Your mood has changed," Lu Han says. Yixing just hums wordlessly and tucks his head beneath his brother's chin. Lu Han has to reach around him for a rag, dragging it through the soapy water and then across the skin of his back. "I'm glad."

Lu Han washes Yixing, less a luxury and more a habit. As children, Lu Han carried the duty of bathing his brothers, lest they scrub themselves less than thoroughly and earn a beating. As when they were children, Yixing tries to return the favor, but he gets soap in Lu Han's eyes before he can really get started and Lu Han relegates him to the other side of the tub to just soak for a while. They quit the washroom when the water begins to grow tepid, cloaking themselves in towels and lounging naked amongst the cushions on the floor. Minseok takes a spot in Lu Han's arms, and Yixing's stomach growls rabidly. He glances at his brother, who is dozing, and very quietly, he dresses and slips into the hallway.

The kitchen is not so much distant from the toys' suite as it is well-hidden; only after Yixing asks the assistance of a household servant does he realize he went too far and walked too straight a path. The servant leaves him at the door, allowing him to edge in and steal bits of bread and slices of fruit from the chef, who turns a blind eye for pretty things. He puts out cuts of meat that Yixing hesitates to take until he realizes that they are intended for him. His stomach gurgles happily.

The chef asks him for thanks with a kiss, but Yixing gives it to him in a bow and a coy smirk instead. He is delighted to find that his charm is not lost, merely subdued. If he could only learn how to fall out of love with his master, he could surely win himself a place in Zhangzi's household for several more years on his smile alone. Yixing turns to his right out of the kitchen into the hallway and walks for a long while thinking of this, daydreaming about it, knowing that he will never fall out of love with his master. It would be far more likely that his master would learn to love him in return than for Yixing to ever—

Someone in the hallway shouts. Yixing freezes, and then recoils. There are actually many men shouting, and none of them are in the hallway. Yixing's eyes search the walls desperately, but he recognizes none of them. He realizes that he is not sure of where he is, and that the shouting is coming from behind a cracked door. He edges towards it, knowing that he should be slipping away while he can, and when he peers through the crack, he sees one section of a long table packed closely with angry men dressed in suits and formal robes.

The mediation. Yixing gasps and finally begins to stumble away, turning his back on the door just in time for somebody to open it. The shouting voices rise, echoing more ferociously into the hallway, and then muffling when it is closed again. Yixing glances back to see who has caught him, feeling faint when he sees Hou Lee staring down at him curiously.

"Excuse me," Hou Lee begins. Yixing turns completely and bows deeply, muttering an apology. When he rises, Hou Lee is watching him with scant amusement on his face. "Are you supposed to be up here? I am certain that your master is not present amongst the mediators."

"Forgive me, sir, I am only lost," Yixing explains curtly, bowing again. Hou Lee huffs a small laugh, pulling Yixing upright.

"Well then, come along. I won't have you wandering around. Something as pretty as you should never be alone, you know. There are disreputable men in this palace."

Yixing watches Hou Lee warily, almost pointedly, but Hou Lee takes no notice. He holds his arm out, and Yixing accepts it with great reluctance. "Now how you ended up here of all places is incredible, if you truly were not intending to be here."

"I wasn't, sir."

"Was it the kitchen, then?"

"Yes, sir."

"Ah, yes. That damn kitchen. You would think that the Emperor wishes for his guests to starve, that his palace has hidden it so shrewdly. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I do, sir."

Hou Lee hums, his eyes fixed straight ahead as he leads Yixing through the halls. Yixing stares at the floor, willing his heart to beat more discreetly. Hou Lee does not acknowledge Yixing's mild panic. He even maintains his silence until they have almost arrived at the toys' suite, and then he speaks so low that his voice does not carry.

"I understand that you must be uncomfortable around me," he starts slowly. Yixing looks up at him, shocked. "I'm afraid that the night we met, I may have overindulged in wine. I am sure I made a fool of myself in front of you." He stops, and Yixing stops beside him. He wants to pull his arm away from Hou Lee's, but he fears the action would be too easily conveyed as an insult. Hou Lee looks down at Yixing and continues. "Whatever affront I may have imposed on you, it was not intended. You must understand, I care very deeply for your master's wellbeing. He is as close to the throne as a man can be without having it. It is beneficial for the entire country if he does not lose himself in something as trivial as a toy, as it is clear he is wont to do with you."

Yixing is certain that Hou Lee's intention is to disperse any offense; rather, Yixing is all the more incensed. His cheeks feel hot with guilt, that he so selfishly wishes his master would favor him over the country. He bows his head, in part to acknowledge Hou Lee's words, but mostly to hide his shame. "I understand, sir."

"You are a beautiful toy, Yixing. The rumors have undersold your worth. But Zhangzi is bound to a life of pragmatism. His purpose is to serve the people of China. Your purpose is to serve him. There is no room for an affair with such vast roles that determine the fates of so many."

Yixing, close to tears, bows his head further. "Yes, sir," he manages, and Hou Lee wipes a tear from his cheek before silently leading him down the remaining length of the hall to the toys' suite. Yixing arrives at the door trembling, Hou Lee's words breaking in him a dark, yawning chasm, wider even than the breadth that has separated him from his master since the reception. _No_ , he realizes, _I will never learn to stop loving my master_.

"Yixing?"

Yixing lifts his head, glassy eyes wide and his mouth dropping open. His master stands amongst the toys, Xin at his side, his brothers on their knees before them. Yixing hardly notices them. Instead, he is stricken by how handsome his master is, even with the dark shadows under his eyes and the pallor of his flesh. In his absence, Yixing had almost forgotten how attractive of a man Zhangzi is, how commanding of a man, how much Yixing adores his master. He only notices Yifan's frown a beat too late.

"Master?"

Yifan isn't looking at him. He's glaring at Hou Lee, his jaw tightening when he sees their arms linked together. Yixing disentangles himself promptly, only just remembering to bow and thank Hou Lee for showing him the way back. Hou Lee waves him off with understanding in his eyes, excusing himself politely and turning back down the hall the way he came. Yixing approaches his master with his head bowed, gasping when Yifan grabs him by the chin.

"You've been crying," Yifan confronts him, fury swirling in his stare. Yixing doesn't deny it. Yifan breathes hard. "We're leaving. Bid your brothers goodbye."

Yixing obeys, embracing not only his brothers but Minseok and Baekhyun as well. Some of the other toys wish him safety on his trip home, but he doesn't linger long enough to acknowledge all of them. Yifan is waiting for him in the hall, and his hand is tight around Yixing's arm when he leads the way out to the car.

What happens next is such a flurry of handling that at first, Yixing doesn't realize he's been laid out on his back. When his world stops spinning, he cries out, " _Master_ ," trying to pull his robes back down from where they've been rucked up to his stomach. His skin tightens to gooseflesh as the first autumn winds sweep over his naked flesh; the car door hasn't even been closed yet. Yifan fights him, pushing his hands away and spreading his legs. His fingers find Yixing's hole, dry and unprepared. Tears bead in Yixing's eyes, fear burning like a fire inside of him, but Yifan does not breach him. Instead, he sighs, his long body sagging. He helps Yixing sit up, pulling him close and soothing his trembling. "Master?" he asks again, his voice weak.

"I'm sorry," Yifan whispers. "I'm so sorry, Yixing, I—I saw you with him, I was certain that he must have—that you…you were crying, I thought—"

"Master, please," Yixing cuts in, reaching one hand up to cup his master's cheek. "He did not act improperly once the whole walk back to the suite. I would not lie to you about this."

Yifan scowls, turning his head away. His cheeks flare with emotion once more, and when he speaks, his spits his words like a dragon spits fire. "But he touched you. He held you by your arm, he—you are not _his_ to touch."

"Master. _Master_." Yifan doesn't look at him. Yixing takes a hold of his sleeve. " _Yifan_." Yifan turns to him abruptly, eyes wide as though he is surprised to hear his own name. His nostrils are flaring with each breath his takes and his eyes are rimmed red. Yixing gasps. "Master, what troubles you? Surely, not this."

Yifan hesitates, pulling Yixing into his chest once more before speaking. Yixing hears his words as a vibration in Yifan's chest just as much as he hears them in his ears. "They've taken Gojong."

"What?"

"The rebels. They've—"

"That—that means…" Yixing trails off. The words are stones in his stomach; he can't spit them out. He pulls away from Yifan just enough to look up into his master's sad, scared eyes.

"It means we're at war," Yifan finishes for him, his voice somber. "I came to bring you home, where I can keep you safe."

The rest of the ride is silent. Something about the world and its passage of time feels fabricated. Yixing doesn't once think of his tremulous standing with his master, or his punishment, or his broken heart. His country is at war, and he does not know what this means for him, as the toy of royalty. It isn't until he is undressing, when Yifan stops in to tell him that his punishment has concluded and that he is free to move about the estate once more, that he even realizes why he is putting himself to bed in his own chambers instead of Yifan's.

"Thank you, master," he says without raising his eyes from the floor. He expects that Yifan will quit his room if he has not already done so, and he eagerly removes the collar. He jumps and drops it when Yifan speaks again.

"You are not happy."

Yixing looks up at him this time, shock evident on his face. "I am," he argues.

"No. You have not been happy for some time now." Yifan crosses Yixing's quarters and seats himself on the side of the bed. Yixing pulls his half-untied robe around himself before taking a seat beside him. Yifan reaches out as though to touch him, but aborts the gesture before its completion. "Please, Yixing. I want you to be happy. Tell me what's wrong."

Yixing kicks his feet out, looking at anything but his master. "You've changed," he finally says. He scrambles to explain himself when he feels Yifan stiffen beside him. "It's not a fault, you have shouldered a large amount of responsibility. I understand, master, but…you used to…you haven't been as gentle…since I…"

"Since the reception," Yifan supplies. Yixing nods.

"Since then, I've felt that something has changed between us. I…I fear that am no longer certain of where I stand with you. I fear that there are things you wish to say to me, but don't." Yixing swallows thickly, looking down and away from Yifan. "You no longer let me sleep in your bed."

Yifan sighs. He runs a hand through his hair, and then rests his hand on Yixing's knee. It's warm, and Yixing lays his hand over it. "I have changed my handling of you since the reception. I had feared that the… _intimacy_ …might confuse our relationship."

Before he can say anything further, Yixing pulls his hand away from Yifan's and tells him flatly, "Please, sir. Do not hold such fears. I am merely my master's toy."

Yifan's hand squeezes Yixing's knee, but Yixing does not look up. His eyes are blurry. He blinks to clear them. Yifan calls his name, and Yixing only looks up after a moment. "I would like you to stay with me, in my bed, tonight."

Yixing's heart thunders, but it's a sour excitement, tainted with unfulfilled longing. Still, he smiles, forced but very convincing. "Thank you, master," he says. Yifan smiles back at him, and Yixing could almost fool himself into believing that he could see love there.

"Come. Leave your robes, I will keep you warm." Yifan rises from the bed and helps Yixing undress; he holds Yixing's hand on their walk through the hallway. Yifan's sheets smell strongly of him, and Yixing buries himself in them, suddenly struck with the fear that this could be but a dream. Yifan crawls in alongside him, his long arms encircling Yixing's waist. Yixing's chest stutters out a thrilled breath. He turns in his master's arms and trails his hands down his master's chest. Yifan takes them in his own and wraps them around his neck. The way Yifan kisses him leaves him feeling as though time has circled completely, its head swallowing its tail. Like this could very well be the first night he spent in his master's arms.

Yes, Yixing thinks, this must surely be a dream.

Yifan kisses him until he is gasping, tears gathering in his eyes, wishing that his master would treat him poorly. Yifan withdraws, perhaps to retrieve some oil, but Yixing refuses to let him go. He holds fast to his master, burying his face into Yifan's neck when he sits up. Yifan hesitates, ultimately settling back into Yixing's embrace.

"I don't want to hurt you," he says, his voice deeper in the darkness.

"Please," Yixing whimpers. _Please do_.

Yifan's fingers find Yixing's lips, resting there until he opens them. He takes three of them deep into his throat, all the way down to the knuckle without choking. His tongue works eagerly, leaving not a knuckle untouched; Yifan is trembling by the time he yanks his fingers free of Yixing's warm mouth, shouldering his legs open much more roughly than he seems to have intended. _Good_ , Yixing thinks, _this is how I am meant to be used_.

The first finger does not slide in, but catches. Yixing grunts, and then whimpers, tightening before relaxing, clutching the sheets in a fight to keep his legs open. The second finger is even more difficult. Yifan pulls his fingers out, which hurts just as much as pushing them in, and he begins to edge off of the bed. He's out of Yixing's reach, so Yixing cries out to him instead, "Master, _please_." His voice trembles and breaks, and Yifan freezes where he stands with one foot on the floor.

"I will not hurt you," he declares indisputably, the voice of a master, and Yixing is not quite certain what this means until Yifan has his tongue inside of him.

Yixing shouts before he can clamp his mouth down around it; it echoes through the room, perhaps further into the hall, and his entire body quivers with the exertion it takes to quiet himself after that. His toes are curled, stomach clenched tightly, his hands fast in fists. Yifan has to grip him with strength to hold his legs open. Yixing would beg his master not to do this, not to degrade himself so freely, if he thought he could speak.

Yifan licks into him with enthusiasm, and he works skillfully. Yixing writhes, blossoming with pleasure, but filled only in a teasing way. Nothing is solid about the way Yifan is fucking him. His tongue is hot and wet inside of him, wriggling against his rim. Yixing's tears fall, but not in sadness. "Master," he tries to say, but the word is butchered. Heedless, Yifan continues until Yixing is sobbing, reaching for a pillow to muffle himself.

As Yifan rises to still Yixing's searching hands, he finally slips his fingers back in. The slide is pleasant now, a relief after the torture of Yifan's tongue. Yixing presses back into it, accepting a third with enthralled frenzy. He pulls at Yifan's hips until he can reach him, wrapping his lips around his master's cock hungrily. He swallows Yifan down to the base, drooling shamelessly, a string of saliva keeping them connected when Yifan pushes him down.

Yifan kneels between Yixing's legs and enters him slowly. Yixing, who continues to wish that Yifan would not be so gentle, lies silent. Yifan stops when he is sheathed completely, resting his forehead against Yixing's breathing heavily, and Yixing's breathing has not changed at all.

"Am I doing something wrong?" Yifan asks, startling Yixing so badly that he flinches.

"Master?" he asks, reaching up tentatively to place his hands against Yifan's shoulders.

"You do not seem attentive tonight. It seems as though I have to discomfit you, or—or _hurt_ you, just to draw a reaction. Do you not wish to be here?"

Yixing's throat constricts around a wounded noise, and he swallows it down before it can wound Yifan, too. "Master, it does not matter. This is not about me," Yixing says pleadingly, because it hurts whenever Yifan forgets.

Yifan just sighs, withdrawing. Yixing settles back against the bed, prepared to be fucked, but Yifan pulls out entirely. "Master," he calls out, but Yifan rises from the bed. Blindly, his master contends with the darkness until he finds the washroom, and Yixing hears the tub running only moments later. He wants so desperately to follow Yifan, to slide into the water with him, to press their chests together and live as they had only weeks before, but unsure of his welcome, he lingers in bed. While the water drowns out all lesser sounds, Yixing turns to his pillow and cries freely. When the water stops, he quiets. He is tired but not drained, his worries still overflowing in him despite the runoff of tears that soak his pillow. He is asleep before Yifan returns to bed.

 

"Yixing?"

Yixing freezes where he is, one leg dangling over the side of the bed, the other tucked beneath him, ready to slip away as soon as he finds solid ground. He whips his head around to look at his master, still buried beneath the bedclothes and the darkness of morning and the denseness of sleep. He pulls himself back into bed but remains upright, bowing his head respectfully. "Yes, master?"

Yifan is squinting up at him, his hair mussed and his face young in his newly wakened state. He moves slowly, trying to untangle his arms from beneath the covers. "Where are you going? What bell is it?" Yixing doesn't answer while Yifan continues to lift himself up in bed, peering beyond Yixing towards the windows. "Heavens above, Yixing, it's not even sunrise." His master sounds more awake now. Yixing appears appropriately guilty.

"Forgive me, master. I woke, and I was unable to go back to sleep. I did not mean to wake you."

Yifan watches Yixing for a moment before sliding back down onto his back. Yixing is uncertain as to whether or not he's been dismissed; Yifan opens his arms up to him, and Yixing realizes that his intentions to escape have been denied. For clarity, Yifan says, "Come here." As compliant as a good toy, Yixing goes.

"You understand that I am about to be very busy with court duties, don't you?" Yifan asks, his voice humming through his chest, where Yixing has rested his head. Yixing wants to cry when he hears it, the clawing pain of his want taking no victories from this embrace. He closes his eyes and tries to sound unaffected.

"I'm sorry, master."

Yifan just sighs. "Qing used to tell me about your days whenever I was away at court. After you first came here." Yixing doesn't say anything. _After you first came here_ ; as if he hadn't been bought. He wants to shout it, wants to cry out, _I love you, I love you. Please punish me_. Instead, he lays quietly, his voice stuck in his throat. Yifan cards his fingers through his hair, and Yixing neither pulls away from it nor pushes any closer. "If her reports were honest, then…there was a time where you truly treasured the time we spent together. Where you waited for me, instead of running away."

Yixing ducks his head guiltily. "Forgive me, master. I know I disappointed you last night. If my behavior is inappropriate—"

"No," Yifan readily interjects. He yawns before he can continue. Yixing hates that it makes him all the more endearing. "I understand that the thrill of a new master must wear off eventually. I should say, I deluded myself into thinking that you would be starstruck for just awhile longer…"

 _Used_. The word Yifan intends to associate with him is _used_ , or perhaps _used up_. Yixing should have known better; masters don't like toys they have to send away, masters don't like toys who freely leave their beds. Masters want toys who are submissive and wanting; it is unfortunate that Yixing's only problem is that he wants too much, and he hides it too well. "My master…desires a newer toy?" he asks tentatively, his voice weaker than he wishes it would be. If Yifan sold him, it would only be for his own good.

But Yifan says, "Heavens, no, Yixing. Forgive me—" (Yixing's face creases unattractively at the appeal) "—I did not mean to suggest something so—no. No, I do not desire a newer toy. You are exactly the toy I desire." His arms around Yixing's body tighten, and Yixing closes his eyes against the hot burn of tears. "I only want to know what it is I can do to renew your interest in me. I want you to enjoy this bed, and I want you to look forward to seeing me."

"Forgive me, master, I have been a bad toy. I will revere my master's wishes for a more obedient, eager toy."

"Yixing, please stop saying these things." Yifan rises up onto his elbows, just enough to dislodge Yixing from where he's pressed against his chest. "Is this because of the punishment? Yixing, we're alone in bed, you do not have to put on this act in front of me."

Yixing lowers his eyes guiltily. "I apologize, master, but this is not an act. It is my training. Forgive me, I am only trying to be a good toy."

"You were a good toy before."

Yixing's stomach drops. The tightness in his throat solidifies, and his eyes mist beyond the point of blinking the tears away. Last night, and again now—Yixing thinks he will never stop disappointing his master, and he will never be strong enough to keep from lamenting it afterwards. He's going to cry again, he will prove his weakness, and there's nothing he can do except hide it from his master. "I'm sorry," he says, "master, I have to…" He doesn't finish before escaping into the hall. Yifan does not call him back.

He only stops in his room for a set of clean robes, afterwards turning around in the snarl of hallways until he finds the kitchen. It's smaller than that of the palace, but it's home. More importantly, it is not a place where Yixing thinks Yifan might search for him, if he conducts a search at all. A few maids squeal and scurry away when he bursts in, but the cook gives him one mean look as though to turn him out. He disregards it, closing the door behind him and sinking down to the floor.

The rumor that Zhangzi's toy is hiding from him spreads over the course of the day, before Yixing has even fully committed to the idea. Did his master not just this morning demand that Yixing cease withholding his presence from him? Yixing moans pitifully in his distress. He only wanted to hide his tears from his master; if he was not going to be sold before, it is certain that he has expended all of his good fortune in this household by now. Prolonging his miserable moping in the kitchen, it isn't until the cook shoos him with a brandished knife that he leaves.

Yifan is at court when Yixing returns to his bedroom. Qing tries to appear concerned for him, but all Yixing can see is her frustration. Yifan must have spoken with her; Yixing cowers beneath her stare. "You must have been busy all morning. We haven't seen you once." Yixing mumbles something wordless and slides off his robes, taking immediately to his bed. Qing collects his robes where he has left them on the floor. "You would not have these robes or this room were it not for the adoration of your master. You would be just another naked plaything, chained to the end of a bed like some poor man's toy."

Yixing peeks ashamedly out from under his blankets. "Jiejie?" he asks her, cringing when she frowns at him. " _Darén_ ," he corrects, lowering his eyes. "I do not mean to hurt him. I am…afraid," he admits, wanting her to tell him that everything will be okay. But her eyes are sad, filled with the same pity that drove him out of his master's bed; her words bring him no comfort.

"You are duizhang's sanctuary, favored above any toy he has ever owned. You have nothing to fear."

"I do not know if that will be enough, jiejie," he mumbles, slipping out of formalities when she takes a seat on the edge of his bed. Her eyes narrow, and she places a hand down over his leg through the covers.

"What have you done, Yixing?"

Yixing lowers his eyes. "Nothing that will hurt anybody but myself."

The room is quiet for a long while. Qing's grip has loosened, now stroking absently. She squeezes him once, and he looks up at her, his eyes feeling raw and swollen. "Oh, Yixing," she mumbles sadly, and he looks away, ashamed. He wants to ask her what will happen to him in the same way that he wants to push a dagger into his stomach; he stays his tongue. When Qing says nothing else, he gives in to his childish desire to pull the covers up over his head. She squeezes him once more and rises from his mattress. Her footsteps carry her to the door, which she closes behind her. The room is quiet and Yixing's thoughts are loud. He moans into his pillow miserably and does not rise until the sun is setting.

Yifan comes to him immediately upon his return to the estate that night, while Yixing is out of bed, composing letters to his brothers. It's late, and Yifan looks tired. When Yixing sees his master, he is reminded of when he was first brought here, how most nights Yifan would take to his toy's room without even changing his clothes. Yixing greets him now with a silent bow, rising from his desk to undress himself. Yifan's gaze travels longingly over Yixing's body, but he doesn't move from the door.

"Yixing," he starts, but doesn't seem to have planned anything after that.

"Master," Yixing replies, slipping over to the bed and spreading himself on it. Yifan breathes sharply, eyes narrowing, traveling down Yixing's body to where he isn't quite hard yet. Yifan's expression changes then, brow tightening with an unnamed tension. Yixing wants to cover himself, suddenly embarrassed beneath his master's eyes. He sits up at the edge of the bed.

"I just want to talk," Yifan says.

"I apologize for my absence this morning. I will be more readily available to you in the future," Yixing interjects before he can be scolded.

Yifan sighs, toeing his shoes off and loosening his tie. "That's not it. Though I was disappointed to not see you before I had to leave." Yixing lowers his eyes. "I'm worried about you, Yixing." Yixing looks up at this. Yifan crosses the room, but he stops several steps before he can meet Yixing. "You are hiding something from me." Yixing protests, but Yifan raises his hand to silence him. "I have spoken with Qing, and she agrees. Please, you can tell me anything. I just want to help you."

Yixing thinks of Baekhyun in this moment. He thinks of Hou Kim, and how it came that Baekhyun confessed to her. Was he confronted? Did he do it out of spite, or desperation, or hopelessness? Yixing's master stands, waiting. Yifan's shoulders are tense, his frown deep, looking braced for the worst, so Yixing gives it to him. It comes out choked, scared, small. Yixing’s heartbeat drowns out his voice in his own ears.

"I love you."

Yifan exhales deeply, shoulders dropping. He rubs a hand over his face. "You do," he mumbles. "You really do."

"Master?" Yixing leans forward, frowning. Yifan's domineering presence is sheepish now, embarrassed, and Yixing, who is not a dull toy, puts it together quickly. "You knew." Of course he knew. Yixing had never been very good at hiding it. Of _course_ he knew. How long? How long has he known, Yixing wonders. Perhaps when he came to retrieve Yixing from the palace. Perhaps when he sent Yixing away in the first place. Perhaps even before the punishment—

"You _knew_ ," he spits, angrily this time. "You _knew_ and you—you used it against me! You used it to punish me—you—"

Yifan snarls, cutting him off. "Would you rather I punished you _for_ it, Yixing? Can you even imagine what would happen to you if anyone found out? _Toys aren't lovers_."

Yixing reels as though he's been struck. Startled, hurt, and more than anything, hopeless, he cries out, " _Then why do you treat me like one?_ "

Yifan storms up to him, and Yixing scrambles away, terrified. He cries out when Yifan grabs him, dragging him back, flinching away when Yifan grabs him by his face. They're so close, close enough for Yixing to see Yifan's tears when he looks up at him. "You _know_ why," Yifan shouts, his voice rough.

For a moment, Yixing just breathes. It's difficult, his lungs feeling too small, his head feeling too heavy. And then, Yifan's words register. "What?"

Yifan releases Yixing abruptly, stumbling away, his expression horrified. He rubs his hands over his face. If he looked tired when he came in, he is wasted now. He paces a few times, and Yixing curls up, pulling his knees into his chest, retreating back towards the center of the bed, flinching when Yifan drops heavily onto the side of the mattress.

His voice is rugged but steady when he speaks. He takes a deep breath before beginning. "Since seeing Hou Lee at the mediators' reception, I became obsessed with the idea that I had been spoiling you. It is true; other masters do not sleep in their toys' beds with them at night. They do not embrace them freely. They do not allow them sexual pleasure without first taking it for themselves. When he brought this to my attention, I thought…I thought that if I didn't treat you the way other masters treat their toys, then somehow, everything I felt for you would find a way to hurt you. It's not _natural_ to love a toy the way I love you, but god—"

Yifan's voice breaks, and Yixing takes the moment of silence following to process what Yifan is saying. Loving a toy, _loving_ a toy, Yifan _loves_ him? He opens his mouth, but Yifan speaks over him. "I tried to convince myself that you're nothing. I tried so hard. You're supposed to be a possession, just a plaything, but heaven _damned_ me with you, Yixing. You've _always_ been so much more. From the first time I saw you at your exhibition, I knew that I would have you, and that you would ruin me."

Yixing cuts in before Yifan can speak any further, his heart thundering in his throat, in his stomach, in his fingertips. He feels it everywhere, drowning him out in his own ears when he speaks. "Master, please, be forward with me—are you going to sell me?"

Yifan turns, looking startled. He holds his hand out to Yixing, who hesitates to take it. When he does, Yifan pulls him close to his chest, warming him. "No," he says, "never. Not when I've married, not when you've retired, not when my children are old enough to take spouses of their own. I will never let you go."

Yixing lets himself cry for the last time. He thinks he will scare his master off, perhaps startle him greatly, but the relief he feels in that moment is a riptide, breaking him down and drawing him under. When he pulls away, his breathing still shuddering and sharp, he looks up to see that Yifan's eyes are red and there are wet streaks across his own cheeks. Yixing reaches up with trembling hands and wipes them away.

"I love you, master," Yixing manages in a weak whimper. Yifan sniffles and strokes his face.

"I love you, too, Yixing."

 

Yixing plays with the buckle while Yifan and the artisan discuss the tooling across the room. He turns his head to one side and then the other, marveling at how the dark shade of the leather contrasts so nicely with his pale skin and light curls. There will be dragons on it, embroidered, to signify that Yixing is a toy of the royal family. There will be carvings, the designs of which Yifan is approving right now. Both of their names will be somewhere on this collar. Yixing's throat catches when he thinks of it; he swallows down the emotion.

Yifan approaches him from behind, reaching to unbuckle the collar so that it can be returned to the designer. Yixing stills his hand, desiring just a few more moments of staring at it. He meets Yifan's eyes in the mirror, smiling when he sees the desire there. "Don't I look like a good toy?" he asks, smiling sweetly. Yifan laughs, playing with his hair.

"You were never a good toy," he says, laughing harder at Yixing's pout. He bends down, and Yixing turns his head just enough to offer his cheek for Yifan's kisses. "Don't frown. It only made me love you more."

Yixing's heart leaps and his eyes flit around the mirror, searching for the artisan, whose head is bowed and whose eyes are fixed on his designs. Yixing returns his gaze to his master, who is smirking devilishly. Yixing nudges him, biting back a smile, and Yifan hugs him close for a moment before righting Yixing's robes. He's pushed them down to marvel at his collar, revealing his shoulders and chest. Yifan pulls the light cotton back up around him, reaching next for the collar.

"Master," Yixing whines, dropping his head back against Yifan's stomach. When Yifan continues to silently remove the collar, he moans, "Duizhang…" He is pleased to feel Yifan's fingers fumble, his cheeks bright when Yixing looks at him in the mirror. Yifan meets his eyes briefly before dropping them back down to the collar. He clears his throat.

"You'll get it back when it's finished, Yixing," he grumbles, resolutely unfastening the buckle. He walks it over to the artisan, exchanging a few final words before escorting the man out and passing him off to a servant who will see him to the front door. When he returns, Yixing is rubbing his throat, already missing the weight of his collar around it. "Yixing, please," he chuckles fondly. Yixing just pouts. Yifan helps him to his feet, pulling him in for a gentle kiss. "You are going to be wearing that collar for the rest of your life. You will survive just a few more days without it."

Yixing hums and rests his head against his master's chest, letting Yifan rock him back and forth. The afternoon sun slants through the great window, harrowing the day's end. In the morning, Yifan will venture to the palace to partake in the war proceedings; it will be his first appearance there in almost a week. There has been talk around the household of the master of the estate moving westward, escaping to a country villa to find distance from the turmoil in the capital. Yixing knows that his master's days at court are waning until he will remove himself from the cabinet entirely.

Yixing has heard stories of the villa, tales of Yifan's fabled childhood. His anticipation to see it is only rivaled by his desire to linger in the city long enough to receive his collar. Qing, ever the diligent handler, has a trunk already packed for him should the need for a swift departure from the capital arise. Yifan has made it clear that he will not leave under any circumstances unless Yixing stands at his side.

Now, Yifan holds Yixing close, kissing along his throat, blowing soft breaths against his neck to tickle him every now and then. "I will miss this, when you have your collar," he admits, taking a bit of skin between his teeth to suck at it. Yixing just tilts his head to the side, moaning wordlessly. "I have an early morning tomorrow," Yifan murmurs, his lips dragging against Yixing. "Will you come to bed with me?"

His words mean more to Yixing than he thinks Yifan will ever understand. He holds his master's face in his hands, their noses catching against each other as he smiles. "Always," he says.


	2. Here, I His Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [prologue] Yixing's exhibition.

The pleasure house has a room that is fashioned as an auditorium, wide and yawning with entrances for guests and entrances for entertainers. Its ceiling beams are fit to be draped, whether with chains of flowers and silks or plush, velvet banners. It has the capacity to hold tables and chairs but often only requires rugs and floor cushions upon which the guests may sprawl, taking their toys down with them. Every toy marketed towards opulence that is trained in this house has its exhibition here, where it is announced and displayed to those who might claim it as their own. Yixing's brothers had their exhibitions in this room, just this past winter. Now, Yixing sits locked in his chambers as guests feast and drink in anticipation of his arrival.

His robes are sheer with no layers beneath; there are jewels in his hair, jewels in his ears, bracelets on his wrists and ankles, and one around his waist; his lips and nipples have been roughed; and his fair curls have been styled with sweet, scented oils that leave them shining. His body is perfumed, and his underarms and private areas have been plucked smooth. While his brothers and other unclaimed toys entertain guests in the great room, Yixing is content to stare at himself in his mirror. He has never before seen himself so beautiful, so formal. Even when his first night was sold, his appearance was more practical than it was fashionable or seductive. In his nice clothes, with his hair and ears and wrists catching the light every time he moves, Yixing feels like a diamond.

Through his door, echoing down the wooden walls of the hallway, Yixing can hear the music and laughter from the auditorium. His chambers are in no way near the great room, rather, the party has grown in exuberance to reach him where he sits, locked away from any wanderers who might seek to interrupt him while he is meant to be praying. Yixing has already burned his incense and asked for grace and fortune from the white-eyebrowed god; he spends the rest of his solitude admiring himself. This is how his handler finds him when he is fetched.

"Gege," he says happily, glancing over his shoulder with a smile growing on his cheeks. "What do you think?"

His handler smiles down at him, offering him assistance in standing and running his hands down Yixing's sides. They stray to the furrow of his buttocks, dipping in beneath the thin fabric of his robes to feel where he has been prepared for any of tonight's guests who wish to inspect him in the prospect of placing an offer. What his handler finds must be satisfactory, for he nods and withdraws, reaching up instead to stroke Yixing's face with his clean hand. Yixing's smile fades, but it does not disappear. His eyes water, and his handler shushes him before he can smudge his liner.

"Quiet," he says, his thumb pulling at the fullness of Yixing's lower lip. Yixing seeks to catch it in his mouth, but his handler pulls it away from him. "It is not your last night in my care. Not yet."

"Gege, I am nervous," Yixing admits, bowing his head and pressing kisses to his handler's knuckles. "What if none of them want me?"

"Yixing, there are so many guests in attendance that I would be disappointed if not one of them expressed an interest in you."

Yixing blooms when he hears this, his dimple biting into his cheek. "How many? As many as were at Lu Han and Zitao's exhibitions?"

Yixing's handler smiles and ties Yixing's robe where it is open. "More," he says proudly, stepping back to admire Yixing in his attire. "Besides," he begins, his eyes roaming freely over Yixing's sensual image, "it would be a sin if one single pair of eyes does not seek you out while you look like this. Are you ready?"

After only a second's hesitation, Yixing nods. His handler offers his arm, and Yixing takes it, letting himself be led through the hallways to an entrance meant for entertainers. Tonight, it is clear of all other toys, meant only for Yixing. The sounds of the crowd and its party have died down; all attention will be on this entrance, waiting for his emergence. His stomach twists and writhes in his belly, but he walks steadily at his handler's side. They stop in the secluded hallway right before a door, and Yixing's handler turns to kiss him on the mouth. Yixing accepts it, breathing deeply through his nose, his worried stomach calming after the gesture.

"Gege," he whispers, but his handler shakes his head. He leads them through the door, which opens into a vacant backstage area. Yixing's handler keeps him walking until they have come to the heavy curtains separating them from the rest of the stage, which his handler parts for him. Whatever rustle of whispers and laughter remain in the room silences as Yixing emerges, his appearance bright and clean in contrast to the dark reds which furnish the great room. Yixing's handler walks with a hand at his back, leading him towards the center of the stage.

"Tonight, this house presents Yixing, whose hands have been blessed with music, whose lips have been blessed with song, and whose feet have been blessed with dance. May his presence bring you comfort, may his body bring you pleasure." Yixing lifts his arms out of the way as his handler unties his robe, slipping it from his shoulders, and he stands naked before more than a hundred rich men and women who wish to use him. The jewels in his hair and in his ear, the metal around his wrists and ankles and waist, they all catch the light. His fair skin and fair curls glow amidst the dimness of the room. He thought that he would feel vulnerable; instead, Yixing feels empowered. More than a hundred pairs of eyes are set on him, none strong enough to look away.

The silence in the room breaks as he begins to step forward, off of the stage and into the crowd. The chatter amongst the house's patrons rings even louder now, urgent with interest and curiosity over Yixing, the middle of three brothers with fair hair and dark eyes, whose name was known by none until his eldest brother's exhibition in the early winter. The toys that are already amongst the crowd return to their duties, entertaining those who are not near enough to Yixing to capture his attention or monopolize his company.

The first man who receives Yixing from the stage turns his head to one side and then the other, reaching down to fondle him apathetically. Yixing moans, and then man's eyes flick up to his face. He smiles, his dimple showing, and the man smiles back without seeming to mean to.

Yixing is next passed along to a woman who inspects his chest and arms, and then his mouth. She brushes her fingers over his nipples, and he sighs, leaning into her. She pets his hair and praises him, and Yixing thinks that he would very much enjoy serving at her estate. She passes him along to the next guest, and the night continues in such a fashion. When Yixing thinks that he has been touched by every guest in attendance, he is given the freedom to wander. Many guests continue to show their interest in him, engaging him in polite conversation and overt flirtation. Yixing's brothers encourage him when they manage to pull him away for any length of time, and his handler praises his good behavior with sweet wine; Yixing is walking unsteadily very soon into the evening.

The excitement quiets ere long, music becoming audible over the hum of conversation as guests return to their comfortable positions reclining and sipping wine, toys moving in and out of their clothes to please the guests. Yixing still garners the attention of those around him, but he is no longer swarmed immobile. He is only just extracting himself from an elderly man's grip when a large hand wraps around his waist, leading him away.

When Yixing looks up, he peers into the face of a man he has not yet seen tonight. He isn't certain, because he's met so many guests this evening, but he becomes more and more sure the longer he stares into this man's plump lips, his high cheeks, his dark eyes, that this is the first time Yixing is seeing him. "Sir," he excuses himself when he’s been caught gawking, stepping away only to bow. "I did not mean to stare. Have we…?" he begins to ask, his words slurring slightly together.

The man smiles, if the gesture may be called that. The corners of his lips twitch, and Yixing thinks that it might be a smile, but the man's grave features leave Yixing in doubt. "We have not," the man says, his voice deep. "You must forgive me for being late; I had duties to attend to before now."

Yixing bows again. "Of course, sir," he says, allowing himself to be pulled forward for the man to hold and turn and examine. The man's hands are large, so very large, and warm. They trace over his ribs, his hips, his cock, pulling him open behind to dip a finger into his entrance and press down against where Yixing is the most sensitive. He cries out, falling forward into the man. The man pulls his finger out, tracing his hands up Yixing's back and holding him close.

"You are beautiful," the man says, and when Yixing looks up at him, he is flustered to see the interest there. It is different than that of the patrons who have already inspected him, so much more intentional and focused. "You must have many suitors present tonight."

Yixing smiles. "Yes, sir. I have not had to suffer a moment alone since I entered this room.”

The man hums, his grip on Yixing tightening. Yixing settles against him, warm and comfortable in the embrace. The mans fingers begin to stray over him once more, finding his loose, wet hole and plunging in with two this time. Yixing sighs contentedly, pushing back against them, and the man presses a kiss to the top of his head as he fucks his fingers in steadily. He doesn't seem to be inspecting any longer, rather, he seeks to pleasure Yixing, who becomes louder in his inebriation and draws the attention of those guests seated and standing nearby. They watch Yixing in his display of pleasure, riding back against the man's fingers and then forward against his thigh. The man leans down to kiss him after long, swallowing his moans. Yixing clutches at his shoulders, his knees too weak to hold him on their own.

"Master," he pleads, the address slipping out when he breaks their kiss. " _Sir_ ," he corrects himself, though the man's eyes have already narrowed in speculation. "Please, sir, oh, please, may I come," he asks, his breaths coming fast and hard. The man regards him silently for a moment before he twists his fingers, plunging them directly against Yixing's prostate.

"Yes, you have my permission," he says, pushing his knee forward to grind his leg against Yixing's cock, and Yixing whines, slumping and trembling as he finishes on the man's suit. He can hear talking all around him, and even a few cheers, though he is not sure whether they are serious or jeering. The man holds him until he is fit to hold himself up, and when he can, the man produces a handkerchief with which he cleans them both off. "Are you free to lay with me for awhile?" the man asks.

"I'm afraid I can't. I must continue to make acquaintances if I am going to produce a profitable offer," Yixing hums, wishing that he could lay with the man.

The man, to his credit, sounds understanding. "I see," he says. "Would that be the case if I promised to out-bid even the highest offer?"

Yixing looks up at the man, scrutinizing now. His posture, his accent, even the expensive cut of his Western-style clothes, all signal wealth. Yixing inspects his face, but he does not recognize this man, nor does he think he has met anyone who may call this man family. "Are you insinuating that out-bidding my highest offer will be a simple feat?" he asks coyly, though he can see the man’s status quite clearly.

The man smirks. "No, I'm sure it will be quite difficult. But you will find that that will not stop me."

Yixing shivers, caught in the man's gaze. "You sound so certain," he whispers, powerless to look away.

"Yixing," the man says, the first time his name leaves the man's mouth, "I have never felt for a toy what I am feeling for you right now. From the moment I walked into this room, I have been certain that you were meant for me. I wish to have you in my bed, and mine only. I assure you," he says, his voice dipping so that only Yixing can hear him, "I have the means to make this so. By the end of summer, you will be mine."

Yixing moans, biting his lip to contain the sound. The man caresses his cheek, trailing his fingers down Yixing's sensitive neck before releasing him and stepping away. Only a moment later, Yixing's handler finds them, wrapping his arm around Yixing's waist.

"I have been looking for you. There is a man who has come from overseas to see you. Come, entertain him for awhile." As Yixing is directed by his handler, he looks over his shoulder at the man who held him only moments ago, shuddering at the fiercely possessive way he watches Yixing being led away. The man from overseas is kind, but he is nothing like this man who promises to own Yixing soon. Yixing searches for him as soon as he is free once more, but try as he might, he does not see the man any more that night.

Lu Han is the one who wakes Yixing in the morning. His head is swimming, his throat feeling thick and on the verge of spilling what little is on his stomach at such an hour. Lu Han offers him water and a bowl of rice, which Yixing eats reluctantly. Lu Han fills this small breakfast with stories from the night prior; stories from before Yixing arrived, stories that Yixing did not witness, and stories to refresh Yixing's hazy memory of the night. Zitao is the one to undress him and prepare him for a bath; in the evening, he resumes his duties to the house, as he will continue to do so until a suitable offer is placed and accepted.

Yixing does not remember the man who held him and pleased him and promised him the night prior, but he is surprised, several months later, to hear that an offer has been placed on him that outshines all other offers received not only in their house, but in the region. It is an offer from Zhangzi, son of the second prince. Yixing searches his mind for the face, but finds nothing. Those in the pleasure house now speak Yixing’s name frequently, as do those in the surrounding villages and even in the capital. Yixing's handler tells him not to challenge good fortune; with a curious anticipation, Yixing obeys.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the reLAY Fest on livejournal.


End file.
